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Elizabeth of England 

a Bratnattc Romance 

IN FIFE PARTS 


BY 


N. S. S HALER 

PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY 


IV. 




THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 1 1903 

Copyright Entry 

fixA. 3. o -/ cr C 3 

CUSS XXa No, 

1 / vT L S 

' COPY A. 


COPYRIGHT I9O3 BY N. S. SHALER 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


PUBLISHED NOVEMBER I903 


PROLOGUE 


E burn across the desert till at eve 
We halt the caravan to lay our dead 
Beside some fair oasis of our hopes; 
And ere the larkless dawn hath paled 
the stars, 

There swaddle our new born. Soon forth the sun 
Stalks, bidding forward on the endless way. 

The burthened camels, drowsing ’neath their loads, 
Go thirsting onward to far wells that wait 
The weary coming of our pilgrimage, 

And ask not when or where it hath its end. 


























































































































































• * : r ■ ■ r : " • 11 







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DRAMATIS PERSONAE 


Lord Keeper. 

Earl of Essex. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Earl of Rutland. 

Earl of Southampton. 
Lord Cobham. 

Lord Gray. 

Lord Chief Justice. 

Sir Christopher Blount. 
Sir Robert Cecil. 

Sir Harry Compton. 

Sir Ferdinando Gorges. 
Sir John Harrington. 

Sir William Knollys. 

Sir John Lumley. 

Sir Walter Ralegh. 

Sir John Spencer. 

Sir Francis Walsingham. 
President of Council. 
Garter King at Arms. 
Francis Bacon. 
Prosecutor. 

Essex's Captain. 

Second Captain. 


Dramatis Personae 


Ralegh's Captain. 

Captain of Guard. 
Shipmaster. 

Clod. 

Hinde, a Citizen . 

Baker. 

Yokel. 

Queen Elizabeth. 

Countess of Essex. 

Magaret Lambrun. 

Courtiers, Ladies , Officers, Citizens, Soldiers , 
Sailors, Servants, etc . 



THE 


Death of Essex 

ACT FIRST 

SCENE I 

London Tavern. 

Throng of Essex Men drinking and singing . In 
another part of room are Ralegh’s Men. 

Essex Men [sing ] . Voice . — 

*ROT, trot , trot, make the capstan spin , 
Chorus . For we ' re away , for we 're 
away ; 

Voice . T rot, trot y troty bowse the anchor in , 
Chorus . jR?r w V* away, for we 're away . 

Voice. Dry your tears , lassies , jvsw jyflz/r pretty 
eyes. 

Chorus . Eflr V* away, for we 're away . 

Till we catch a Spaniard ' fow jolly 
prize. 



2 The Death of Essex 

Chorus . While we ' re away , while we ' re away ; 
Voice . Now she dips her forefoot , she ships a 

sea, 

Chorus . Ear V* away, for we 're away . 

Good bye , lassies, dry your pretty eyes. 
Chorus . While we 're away, while we 're away . 
Essex Captain. Up for Lord Essex ; drink, my 
lads, to him 

Who leads once more the ships to win for us 
This good wide world. Out swords and sing, 

Here ' s to a rollicking, f rollicking boy , 

Here ' s to the captain who singed them at Cadiz ; 
Here 's to the gallant who ' s ever the joy 
Of the men who would fight and eke of the ladies . 
Here ' s to our Essex, who knoweth that ‘ Water ' 
Is made to be trod by his conquering keels ; 

Here 's health to his friends, for his foemen the 
halter 

Who spare not their hides by the speed of their 
heels . 

Chorus . Ho for our Essex ! Drain from the brim ; 

1 Then up with your anchor, for we fare with 
him . [Roars from Ralegh Men. 

Voice . Fare with him, share with him, over the 
water 

In the brave service where he is the king ; 


The Death of Essex 3 

Let who please ape it 9 Essex shall shape it 
So that the shout of all England shall ring 
Hail to its master . Death and disaster 
Unto his foes our good swords shall sing . 
Ralegh Captain. Hold, men ! First let us 
match our song with theirs. 

Then for the other music. Sing with me : — 

The Spanish host hies over the sea 
A thousand ships ; right merrily 
Comes England' s shout , who first shall be ? 
Chorus . Ralegh , Ralegh! 

Voice . Our Bess through all the land did spy 
To find her men to do or die : 

Who first unto his ship doth hie ? 

Chorus . Ralegh , Ralegh! 

Voice . Where is Lord Essex when our Walt 
Leads on our admiral' s assault 
Where snug ashore the cowards halt ? 
Chorus . Ralegh ! Ralegh! \T hey fight. 

Enter Sir John Spencer, with Constables . 
Spencer. Between them, men ; break with your 
staves their swords 

Or else their empty pates. Quick ! for the law 
They mock with drunken brawling. At them now ! 

[1 Constables break between Combatants. 
\To Essex Men.] Put up your swords ! Up with 
them, or ye ’ll find 


The Death of Essex 


4 

The law’s good staves are stouter than your steel ; 
Ye need the lesson we ’ll be glad to give. 

[To Ralegh’s Captain.] Put up, my captain, for 
you wrong our trust 

In your good faith : ’t is yours to stay your men ; 
You lead them in this brawling. 

Enter Essex. 

Ah, he comes ! 

[To Essex.] Here, shepherd, lead your flock beyond 
the town ; 

Serve them as scape goats : they have sins enough 
To fill the wilderness. 

Essex. How now. Sir John ? 

They be good men and soldiers with the best, 

Men of brave fields and braver yet to come ; 

Trust them to fight for us and that right well, 
Whoever faces them. 

Sir John. I ’ll trust them, knaves 

Who break our liege’s peace. 

Enter Ralegh. 

Sir Walter, see : 

Your men with his have set a battle here 
To shame our town. 

Ralegh [/<? Captain]. Here, Captain, lead your 
men 

Straight to your ships, — no parley on the way, 


5 


The Death of Essex 
Nor answer to a hail unless it come 
With stroke or shot. The morrow we will know 
What this adventure telleth. [Men leave . 

So, Sir John, 

We quit you of our share and pardon crave 
For what it may have been. 

Sir John [to Essex]. And you, my lord? 

[Essex silently motions his men to go. 
Sir Walter [to Essex]. Know you, my lord, 
how came this brawl about ? 

Essex. My men were singing from a merry song 
Which oddly .mixed their wits and wine with 
‘Water ’ ; 

All liked it so they danced and beat refrain 
With swinging blades, and that old bumble there 
Thought it was war. 

Sir Walter. A good account, my lord. 

Sir John has fared the sea and well he knows 
How to the life you paint a sailor’s pranks 
As merry nothings. 

Sir John. They ’re the devil’s ways, — 

Ways they have learned in looting foreign towns. 
They need a master, and shall find him here 
In our good law. 

Essex. Ho, ho, my man, ye ’ll find 

Your barnyard cackle will not fright our hawks. 


6 The Death of Essex 

You best not crow in open lest you bring 
Their pounce upon your back. 

Sir John. Yea, now, my lord, 

You tell of treason that would master us. 

If staves serve not, our swords are sharp and still 
Within the Tower waits an axe that’s keen 
To do our sovereign’s will. 

Essex. Thou dotard knave ! 

Thy carcase is not worth a clean sword’s point. 

’T will give no blood to that, yet it shall take 

A smacking bastinado fit to teach 

Thy tongue a lesson. \Makes at Sir John. 

Sir Walter. Hold, my lord : this man 
Is herald of the law ; on him your stroke 
Would shame a knight, for when you strike at him 
You smite a majesty. 

Essex. Out of my way ! 

Sir Walter. Nay, nay, my lord, I cannot ; for 
’t is writ 

By fate indelible that we shall bar 
Each for the other every chosen way 
Until our going ’s done. 

Essex. Draw, then, and stand 

As second to that knave who will not fight ; 

Make answer for him. 

Sir Walter. 


Nay, not that, my lord ; 


7 


The Death of Essex 
Better to cast our good swords in the sea 
Than mar them in this brawl. Wait time and place 
When we may — 

Enter Margaret Lambrun, wailing . 
Margaret. Cry, cry, cry, dear liege, I hear 
thy cry ; 

Where is the key ? Dear mistress, where *s the key ? 
Alas, my hands are numb ; they will not stir. 

I ’m dead, I ’m dead, and yet I hear thy moan 
Beyond the gate. [To others .] Help me, help me 
to her. 

Essex. Margaret ! 

Mar. Oh master dear, help me to do 

My darling’s bidding. Oh, the key, the key ! 

I cannot find it and she cannot die, 

But hopeless lives in torment. Help me, help! 
Essex [to Ralegh]. Ay, sir, it must be other, 
for here comes 

A sorrow to part swords. [To both.] Forgive my 
words ; 

Know them ten fold the sorer in my soul 
Than they were in your ears. [Goes to Margaret. 

Sir Walter. Farewell, my lord; 

We never were so near to friends as now. 

May peace and healing go along with you. 

[Exit Essex and Margaret. 


8 


The Death of Essex 
Sir John. Amen. His heart comes back to him 
in this, — 

Heart of his youth that was so true that men 
Could trust it as a compass in worst storm 
To show the way to safety. 

Sir Walter. Who is she ? 

Sir John. A sorry waif, disnatured by old woe 
That ’s left her but a cry. She ’s new come here ; 
Yet we may know hers is an ancient plaint 
That ’s rung these years. ’T is like a huckster’s call 
That once had meaning, now is but a sound 
To wake the streets. 

Sir Walter. How came she here to him ? 
Sir John. As other waifs who know where 
dwells a man : 

Because need gives them eyes, for he alone 
Can cast the devil out and bid her be 
A while the gentle dame that she has been 
Ere this came on her. 

Sir Walter. Yea, but else is here. 

Sir John. What else is here? She’s old and 
wan and poor 

And wearying with her plaint she cannot tell 
Save by her heartbreak. 

Sir Walter. Why doth he attend 

Who hath this world upon him and who aims 
At realms and thrones ? 


The Death of Essex 9 

Sir John. Oh my brave knight, a man 

May know him such when in the night a hound 
Long wandered, masterless, doth lick his hand 
To beg place by his side. The cur wins help 
Because he beggeth well, — because he knows 
Whereof to beg. 

Sir Walter. A mangy kennel his 
Who stocks it thus. 

Sir John. Ay, such our Essex has 

Of ugly brawling brutes to bite the hand 
They licked for favour in their hungry time. 

Yet he is Essex, and we pardon much 
For what he is and that which he hath been 
Unto the worst of men. [ Sound of rioting .] There 
\ is again ! 

Get all of ye to ship and fight it out 
A thousand fathom deep. [ Exit Mayor. 

Sir Walter [alone], A gate, a key, a queen, — 
there ’s something here 
That is not hard to read. She hath a plan 
Within her addled pate. Poor fools, they see 
But folly in her words where wisdom finds 
The springs of action. Let it to the end. 

’T will fail, but in its failure leave a train 
Of helpful consequences for our plan. 

And yet it may not miss, — some word must go 


io The Death of Essex 

To show us watchful and to prove him linked 
With this contriving. Ho, my lord, we ’ll see 
Who best can play this game. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE II 

Hall of Essex House. 

Essex and Captain. 

Essex. You saw your men aship ? 

Captain. Ay, ay, my lord ; 

By this time they have swum them back to shore. 
Hark ! you may hear their randy in the town : 
They will be merry while they wait for you 
To show them braver sport. Pipe anchors up. 
And you will find them all where they belong 
Or where the devil sends them. Let us forth 
And leave the townsmen chance to mend their 
crowns 

With Sir John’s salving speech. 

Essex. Nay, we must bide. 

Captain. Bide still for what ? For your keen 
foe to plan 

Some check with queen to mate our noble game ? 
We know him crafty. 

Essex. 


Nay, we are most friends ; 


The Death of Essex ii 

With one fair bout we may be brothers yet. 

He ’s better than I held him. 

Captain. Yet you saw 

He played you for the favour of Sir John 
As tricksters play. 

Essex. Ay, he played fair and won ; 

The best you saw not, for he stayed my rage 
On a fool’s errand, — did it as a man. 

As gentleman who would not let his like. 

Even his foeman, go into the pit 
Where lie the fools. 

Captain. My lord is merciful 

Unto his proven foe. 

Essex. Who mercy needs 

More than thy friend ? He had it from that man 
Who might have left him to his fatal ire 
And easy won his end. He seeth far : 

He would not draw ; for had our swords but 
crossed, 

I had me writ a fool. 

Captain. A paragon ! 

Essex. That word doth suit right well : there 
is in him 

Something that fendeth love ; a poised soul 
That passion never shakes but always turns 
The gusts that others blow to good account 


The Death of Essex 


I 2 

To send its sails across a prospering sea. 

I cannot love him, but I may not hate 
Till there’s new reckoning. 

Captain. Your sword was out. 

Your dearest foe before it, yet it went 
Unfleshed to its sheath. I know my lord. 

But never in this mood of gentleness. 

What came to cross the point ? 

Essex. A woman came. 

Captain. Hello, hello ! I knew a hussy hid 
Somewhere within this tangle ; now I see 
Why ‘ Water ’ is good wine and why our ships 
Tug at their cables in these shifting tides 
And clamour vainly for the reach of sea. 

Is he her brother ? 

Essex. Nay, man, nay ; she ’s mad. 

Captain. Ah, they are all, betimes, and so 
infect 

Their betters to unreason. 

Essex. She ’s stark mad, — 

A sorry dame who hath seen murder done 
And raveth of that horror as in sleep, 

Which she, poor soul, would shake that she may do 
Some service to her dead. 

Captain. What ’s then this fool 

That she doth clog our purpose, — set awry 
Fair days for deeds? 


The Death of Essex 


x 3 


Essex. Yea, she is but a waif 

Blown by the wind to me, and yet she is 
A woman who doth need what man may give, 
What man must lend, of succour in her woe. 
Besides, within her tortured soul is hid 
Strange mystery that ’s been. I must divine 
What lies within that darkness. Those who play 
With fate for life must watch all fateful things 
And sight the dice before they touch the board. 
Captain. Nay, nay, ’t is not your game ; leave 
that to him 

Who has the art for it : ’t is yours to strike 
Straight for the realm that waits us o’er the sea. 
Essex. The seas will wait us and your bellowing 
crews 

Be none the worse for biding. Hale them back 
To ships in open sea with five league moat 
’Twixt keel and land to hold them on their decks. 
Y our task is easy ; it is but to leash 
Your pack of hounds until the time is here 
When we may slip them. Mine it is to seek 
What lies within the dark you judge the day. 
Captain. Would you had slain them both, for 
so we ’d have 

A quittance of these haltings. Then the sea 
Must bail our deeds until yon realm be won 
And honour wash us clean. 


14 The Death of Essex 

Essex. No more of that. 

We ’ll go clean handed with good shout from shore 
That hath the promise of glad welcome home, 

Or else we ’ll lie within some ready pit 
My foes delve for us. Get thee to the ships 
And wait the morrow that shall set us free. 

When it is here, I ’ll swim my way to you 
And shout at every stroke. 

Captain. Farewell, my lord. 

Essex. Farewell, good shipmate ; kiss the waves 
for me ; 

Drink me a bumper of the airy wine 

They trample from the sky, while I bide here 

Within this prisoned pestilence that girts a throne. 

\Exit Captain. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE III 

The Shore. 

Captain, Second Captain. 

Second Captain. We’re ready for it. All our 
crowns are cracked, 

Our bellies full of drink. Yea, all the town 
Musters in arms to see that we go forth. 

Ne’er was such merry faring from this port. 


The Death of Essex 15 

Captain. We go no farther than the channel’s 
way, 

There yet to bide. 

2D Captain. To bide for what? 

Captain. Ask him ; 

And have for answer that there ’s much ashore. 
Hid here and there, that he must search and find 
And turn to profit : now a crazy dame 
With secrets strange, and now an enemy 
With new found nobleness doth beck his will 
And stay our action. Yea, he will soon find 
Our cables have chafed through, so we need go 
Without him on our way. 

2D Captain. Nay, man, not that : 

We are the devil’s own, and yet we’ll do 
Our service in fair shape. There ’s little parts 
Our trade from that of pirates, yet the span 
Is dear unto the worst of all our crews. 

It shall not come to that. 

Captain. It will not come 

Save as a sorry choice. The land us spurns; 

Our only home is on the further seas 
Or shores where we claim welcome with our 
swords. 

There he should lead us. 

2D Captain, There he ’ll surely lead. 


1 6 The Death of Essex 

Awhile he ’ll back and fill with idle gusts 
Which he would turn to vantage, till he come 
Near to the rocks ; and then his lusty soul 
Will send a gale to blow him o’er the sea. 

He is a madman measured by the wits 
Of our dull sort, for Satan and the saints 
Contend for him and part his erring life 
In eager right and wrong. Ay, he will lead. 

And we shall follow as the shot that flies 
In the gun’s breath, and count it nought to die ; 
For he of madcap fortunes is the king 
And we his faithful subjects, so it be 
We fight beneath the banner of our Queen 
And on the way she wills. 

Captain. He wills for her ? 

2D Captain. Nay, man, there is the rock to 
rend our keel, — 

Hid in smooth sea but hard as adamant. 

Waiting rash helmsman who doth think him safe 
Because no breaker warns. She is with him 
For ancient love, half folly ; while he fares 
For her realm’s safety : when she doubts, he falls 
Shorter by his fair head. The numskulls cry 
That sorry story from the Tower wall 
Of how each in its time hath tried to will 
For our right sovereign liege. They shout to him 


*7 


The Death of Essex 
‘Ware that still rock beneath this merry sea, 

Or thou shalt give thy bones to whiten here 
As we poor wights before/ [Sound of gun.\ Hark ! 
't is the gun 

That calls us to our ships. We will to them. 
Waiting the gale he'll blow to send us on. 

We care not whither, so it be afar 
And breakers tell the rocks. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE IV 

Whitehall. 

Elizabeth, Cecil, Ralegh. 
Elizabeth [to Cecil, pointing to Ralegh]. What 
will he now ? There 's mischief in his heart. 
Some scheme of empire or some knavish plan 
To wrong his neighbour. 

Cecil. Good my liege, you ’ve known 

Sir Walter faithful in our trial time. 

Eliz. Ay, but ’twas long ago. Good hearts 
wear out 

And then the devil sets his gear where they 
Once beat with noble pulses. 

Cecil. Nay, my Queen, 

He ’s pattern of your time, in best and worst ; 


1 8 The Death of Essex 

The better hath the vantage in his fight 
’Twixt good and ill. 

Eliz. Yea, we knew well his youth, — 

Twin to our Sidney’s in its glorious flame ; 

We ’ve seen that fire die, to leave but ash 
Upon its altar. Yet we ’ll find what wind 
Doth stir that dusty heap. 

[Signs to Ralegh to draw near . 
[To Ralegh.] Your face, my knight. 

Tells gale behind it that hath swept you here 
With message for us. We have seen the look 
When it foretold us deeds of grace and might 
To deck our realm ; what tells it now? 

Ralegh. Good liege, 

I owe unwonted thanks to my hard face 
If it hath borne the message of my faith 
To thy dear eyes. 

Eliz. Yea, that it hath of old, 

In other years, beneath another sky 
That spanned another earth. 

Ralegh. What else hath changed, 

Believe that faith stays on ; for, see, he lives 
Who with its death had died. 

Eliz. Ho, fair courtier, 

Kings’ trains were squeaking ghosts if it were 
true 


The Death of Essex 19 

That life went out with honour. — To thy tale, 
And prove our eyes be liars. 

Ralegh. Oh my liege, 

What I must tell of faithfulness needs faith 
For its believing and the help it brings ; 

Else were it best untold. 

Eliz. Say on ; we ’ll take, 

E’en as kings must, the spoken word as true, 
Whate’er they judge unsaid. 

Ralegh [aside to Queen]. There’s sheltered 
here 

A woman who hath served with Scotland’s 
Queen, 

Stark mad but purposeful for dire revenge 
To stay her liege’s moan. 

Eliz. Sheltered, you say ? 

Who lends help to this foe ? 

Ralegh. Mistress, ’t is one 

Who from his youth hath found beneath your 
roof 

The wealth of earth, treasure to pass all count 
That he as spendthrift casts into the sea 
Or wastes in wild essays. 

Eliz. You’ve seen this dame ? 

’T is nigh two score of years since that befell, 

Full time she too was dead. 


20 


The Death of Essex 
Ralegh. Yea, she is old, 

A haggard beldame, yet she hath the wit 
That hatred lends unreason. She may serve 
To tip some treacherous shaft. 

Eliz. Yea, yea, my knight, 

We see thy mind. We know that prodigal 
Who oft seems marching straight unto the pit, 

Or else swift driven thither by his friends. 

The devil plays his master, but the Lord 
Hath set an angel by him to fend shame, — 

The mighty angel of a true man’s soul. 

Who smites his worst in time to save his best 
And shield him from dishonour. ’T is his fate 
To know all else but foulness. He will die, 

Be it with neck on block, a true man still ; 

There we rest full safe. 

Ralegh. Yea, my liege, full safe 

For all of shaped purpose, yet his mind 
Is ’wildered by his passions, so his friend 
Would guard him ’gainst himself. 

Eliz. Call him not friend ! 

*T is fit he should be foe to half this world 
And lover to the rest, — but not to thee : 

This old realm ’s out of joint, but it would fly 
In tatters to the spaces if ye two 
Were else than foes. 


The Death of Essex 21 

Ralegh. Oh my dear liege, 

This servant seeks your safety and this realm’s 
That hangs on your dear life. 

Eliz. We seek it too. 

But in no shameful watching for a stroke 
Hurled from the arch of heaven. For what you 
brought 

Of honest will to help us, take you hence 
Our honest thanks, — and quickly. When you 
come 

Again with tribute, care you well to part 
The counterfeit from true, and seek not here 
For vantage o’er the foes you cloak as friends; 
Seek in your closet for the man we knew, 

That gentle man of old ; we ’ll welcome him 
For noble memories you have forgot. 

[Exit Ralegh. 

Eliz. [ calling to Cecil]. Here, Cecil ! 

Cecil. What would my liege ? 

Eliz. Another world than this. 

Or good forgetfulness of that we ’ve known 
Where men were else than phantoms. Ay, ’t is 
sore 

To match these present shades against the might 
That once stood by our side. 

Cecil. 


What hath he done ? 


22 The Death of Essex 

Eliz. What hath he done but gibber as poor 
ghost 

Of his brave sometime self. Poor lying ghost, 
That owns no company with shape it claims, 

Save for the common housing in the grave 
Where they should rend each other. See to it 
That Essex is here soon : ’t will lift our soul 
To hail again that torment, changed as all, 

But with some substance of the man that was 
Left in the spectre still. We’ll see if deeds 
Sung by fame’s trumpets send unto his heart 
The hero ’s blood of old. 

Cecil. He seeks that chance. 

Be it the chance to die ; for he ’s here chained, 
Treads like a caged panther to and fro 
Within an iron cell, and in its swing 
Ticks off the weary time, while from its eyes 
Glows the fierce light of its unprisoned days. 

This narrow land is to him but a gaol ; 

He hungers for the wilds. 

Eliz. We ’ll give him that 

And let our heart go with him. We are kin 
In mighty hatred of most things that be 
And longing for the deeps. Ay, bring him here. 
End of Scene . 


The Death of Essex 


2 3 


SCENE V 

Audience Room of Whitehall. 
Elizabeth, Cecil, and Courtiers . 
Elizabeth. Where is Lord Essex ? 

Cecil. My liege, we know not where. 

Last eve he was in quarrel with our mayor. 
Whipped sword for him because his worship blamed 
The doings of his men who range the town 
And spoil the merchants as an enemy. 

The place he ’s stormed. His eager hand was stayed 
By brave Sir Walter. Next my lord went forth 
As pilot to a bedlam dame who raves 
Of some foul deed that smote her wits away. 

I have not tracked him further ; we shall have 
Anon his news in rumour of some deed 
That quakes this realm. 

Eliz. Or tells us that a man 

With red blood in his heart doth play with us 
The merry game of life as it was played 
By a brave prince, your father’s king and mine. 

Go to with all this craft ! Our Essex stands 
The surer for the springes that ye set 
To trap his honour. 

Cecil. 


Nay, my liege, we set 


24 The Death of Essex 

No traps for him; we care but for this realm 
And your good safety ’gainst that thunderbolt 
That strikes we reck not where. We know his 
strength 

To make or mar an empire and his charm 
To win men’s hearts and doom them when they ’re 
won 

To his mad purpose. Might we trust his good 
Or else his evil to endure a day 
He’d fit some need of action. 

Enter Essex. 

Eliz. Here, Essex ! 

We wondered much where thou hast ranged the 
while 

We waited for thy coming. 

Essex. Oh my Queen, 

I sought to brush away the world of cares 
That I might to you free and clean of all 
The foul encumbrance of our common clay. 

That I should bring nought but my love to you. 
Thus was I stayed. 

Eliz. Ah, happy youth who dreams 

That in his morning he may brush aside 
This tangled world ; at eve to mistress come, 

Clean as the dawn. — Nay, Essex, in thy face 
Hang out the signals of a sore tried soul ; 


The Death of Essex 25 

Thine eyes are weighted with hard yesterdays ; 
Thy once unruffled brow hath known the 
share ; 

And in thy locks is silver touch that once 
We knew but on thy tonguel 

Essex. Nay, mistress, nay, 

These are but footprints of a host that ’s gone 
Into the pit. 

Eliz. It needs be deep, that pit, 

To hold such devil’s host. If they lie there, 

We pray thee seal them with the seven seals 
Of virtues cardinal ; so we be friends 
As in the olden days when in thee shone 
The youth we pictured as the cure of time. 

Healer of all the wounds the woman takes 
Who serves this land as king. 

Essex. That I would be, 

And count all else as nought. 

Eliz. Ay, now and here, 

But on the morrow once again in chace 
Of every vanity beneath the sun. 

Essex. My liege, 

I am a man bred in this land you ’ve made : 

Heir of its honours and its proud desires. 

Set ’fore the world to do a noble’s part, 

The nobler for the favour of your eyes. 


26 The Death of Essex 

You would not have me hide behind your throne 
To grin and chatter with the apish throng 
That fawn for moment’s favour. 

Eliz. No, nor ape 

The manners of a prince who bears our rule 
Till he can ’scape into a realm he ’ll win 
With crew of rakehells in his private ships. 

Yea, while he waits his tide doth shield a foe 
Who hath some ugly purpose by our state. 

This I can see too well. 

Essex. Would you saw more 

Than these base hucksters of my deeds display 
In daily market of my honour here. 

Then might your majesty behold my ships 
Set with my fortune first upon the seas, 

Ready to strike where’er your sceptre shows 
For safety here, for empire won afar. 

So too might England’s Queen know that a man 
Schooled by her heart could not deny the claim 
Of a lone woman, wild with memories 
By bitter sorrow stamped upon her soul, 

Who sought his stay as some poor brute that 
comes 

Starved to his gate. Would that Queen’s heart were 
free 

To judge her servant as he would be judged, 


2 7 


The Death of Essex 

In proud contentment of his faith to her 
As hers to loyal servants. 

Eliz. There ’s my youth, 

His age all blown away, his eyes aflame 
As his right loyal soul speaks to my heart. 

Oh Essex, be but thus your better self, — 
Straightforward, open, as the Lord thee made 
For honest dealing. 

Essex. Yea, my Queen, that way 

Was mine and yours in olden happy days, 

When other was this world. 

Eliz. What then has changed ? 

Sure not thy sovereign’s mind, this woman’s heart 
That found in thine the spring that slipped away 
To autumn sere; the manly strength that stood 
With her when on that day she armed to fight 
Hard battle for her realm. 

Essex. Sure not the man, — 

The happy man, who found in his fair Queen 
The woman he could worship and the liege 
Whose service claimed him as the sun claims day 
By the Creator’s title. What hath changed ? 

Both sun and earth are as they were of old, 

Each true to other ; yet a cloud hath come 
That freighteth winter on its raven wings ; 

And so this clod is cold. 


28 


The Death of Essex 
Eliz. Show us that cloud 

That we may sweep its cursed mists away 
And warm our earth again. 

Essex. My liege knows well 

From whence it comes ; how from the wits of 
knaves 

Distils a vapour deadly to fair fame 
And to her true heart’s will. 

Eliz. Ah, Essex, know 

This cloud is but a phantom. See, the wind, 

A wholesome wind, hath blown the dark away 
And left us friends, as may we ever be. 

These men about us are thy helpful mates ; 

They wish thee well. But now our Cecil sought 
To find thee place where thy great parts might 
serve ; 

He does but doubt thy purpose. 

Essex. Grace for that. 

To honest man the warrant of a knave 
Is sorest wound he takes. 

Eliz. Oh, in what gall 

Hast thou, my Essex, tempered thy sad mind 
To smite thy fellows, — men who share with thee 
The noble fortunes of this mighty realm ? 

Essex. They share with me ! What is my share 
but blows 


The Death of Essex 29 

Sent from safe coverts ? What my comradeship 
With knaves who cringe before me while they plot 
In hiding for my fall ? Nay, my good liege, 

I have the fellowship of my true sword 
And sorry remnant of your sometime love; 

For all the rest I ’m pauper and alone. 

With certain doom before. 

Eliz. What doom is this 

That as a shapeless spectre frights thy soul ? 

’T is but a phantasy. 

Essex. And yet it stood 

Shaped in my sovereign’s eyes when I came here. 
’T is gone, — who knows how far ? Whose word 
may bring 

Again damnation when I am away 
Where’er her will may bid ? Ay, it will back 
At clamour of a host that owes return 
For blows well sent. 

Eliz. God ’s death ! He judges us 

A weathercock to turn at breath of knaves. 

Essex. My sovereign I do set o’er this wide 
world 

As paragon of all a prince may be 
Of justice, mercy, truth that answers truth, 

And faith that in itself finds full reward. 

Alas, I know her mortal and I know 


30 The Death of Essex 

That under heaven, judgment e’er is shaped 
At idle clamour’s will. 

Eliz. Fore God, thou ’It have, 

As shall the meanest of my subjects, right : 

None can me blind to that ; and when my will 
Falters to do, I ’ll cast me in the sea. 

Trust me for that. 

Essex. All England trusts for that. 

And if the sovereign scales held all he needs 
So would this subject trust, as to his God. 

But by that blindfold statue he must fall 
For his deserts, if mercy be not quick 
To set his good against his evil part 
To plead for him. 

Eliz. Alas, thy troubled soul 

In an incarnate tempest. In thy birth 
Came back to earth fierce king of other days. 
Some Northman bold, who swept the lands and seas, 
In thee returns unto this changed world. 

We cannot bind him with the silken threads 
Of courtly customs ; he shall bide his time 
In brave contending till fate hales him back 
To his rude company. 

Essex. My liege looks far 

Into the depths of men ; I know myself 
The better for her seeing. 


3 1 


The Death of Essex 
Eliz. To make sure 

That, come what may, God’s mercy shall be heard 
Before His justice in this realm be done. 

That ’gainst all evil clamours we shall stand 
Thy steadfast friend, we give a sovereign’s pledge 
And seal it with this sign. [Giving ring .] An idle 
sign, 

For in our heart ’t is graven. 

Essex. Oh my Queen, 

I ’m a spent swimmer in a weary sea. 

Who catches breath at sight of blessed land 
That he despaired to win. 

Eliz. Dear mariner. 

Bide on our shore of safety, quit yon sea, — 

That ancient deep of ills and ventures mad, 

Stay by our throne, uphold it by thy strength : 

So we may wear our quiet lives away 
And sleep in silent churchyards. 

Essex. Nay, ’t is said. 

I am to battle in the ancient way ; 

It best be with the sea, for far off shores, 

’Gainst a strange foe; and not within this land 
Where every stroke doth turn against myself 
In your beloved eyes. 

Eliz. \aside \ . This great round world 

Is fashioned like a cage that they must spin 


32 The Death of Essex 

Or rend our houses. So they scorn their nests ; 
When their strong wings are fledged they fly afar 
Over the deep to realms they would create. 

[Ti? Essex.] Ay, thou shalt forth, my Essex. We 
shall find 

Some empire that may give to thy soul room 
Where all thy ragings of brave tongue and sword 
May fall on wights who cannot rend our ears 
With their complaints. 

Essex. Dear mistress, let it be 

The other side of earth : ’t will not be far. 

For I go as your servant with the bond 
To hold me near in heart unto your own. 

Eliz. Dear errant knight, I trust thy heart right 
well ; 

Would I could have it ’neath another head. 

One better matched to serve thy needs and mine. 
Go now ; we must take thought of what shall be 
The realm for thy crusade. Farewell, farewell. 

[Essex kisses her hands . 

[Aside.] Have we in him 

The strong armed sower who shall cast his seed 
Beyond the reaches of the seas that bar 
The might of common men, so that the lands 
Where ships have never come shall know his 
hand 


33 


The Death of Essex 
The hand of God ? Or mere adventurer, 

Who ’ll sow the ocean floor and come to us 
For sorry reckoning? — This we needs find 
Ere he hath our seed corn. 

Essex \aside \ . The sorry tatters of a love that ’s 
been 

In wintry winds of ceaseless calumny 
Is beggar’s raiment for a courtier. \Exit Essex. 
Eliz. \beckoning Cecil]. Come, Cecil, let us 
reckon what’s to do 

Where doing ’s ever needful and undone. 

Cecil. My liege, ’t is Ireland ? 

Eliz. Ay, that land and he, — 

These glorious paupers of our merchant realm, — 
Mayhap they ’ll match together : they are like 
In longing for what earth gives not to men, 
Rebelling when it lacks. 

Cecil. What lacks, my Queen ? 

Eliz. Plain rustic sense that leaps not for the 
moon 

Because ’t is golden, nor doth curse the earth 
That whacks them when they fall. 

Cecil. My Queen, they’re like. 

Yet that may breed no love. 

Eliz. You heard what passed? 

Ay, for you hear through walls. 


34 

Cecil. 


The Death of Essex 


So much as touched 


Upon this realm. 
Eliz. 


Nought of what touched thyself? 


Cecil. My liege, a counsellor must put away 
His tender half in some good closet where 
*T will take no hurt. His would-be enemies 
For him are pieces set upon the board 
To make the game. To hate is to court loss 
When we would win. 

Eliz. Well said, good friend, well said : 

There is the wisdom that hath brought us here ; 
Would you could lend it at worst usury 
Where we would have it lent, as saving grace 
Unto our spendthrift. 

Cecil. Sires we cannot lend ; 

So yon brave gentleman must go the way 
He ’s set him on, of splendid madcap deeds, 

Until he find his fall. 

Eliz. But he ’s a man 

With noble gentleness to move all hearts. 

He strides not with his fellows, for his feet 
Are winged with eager thoughts. The ancient hills 
The common mount with panting are to him 
But stepping stones which space unnoticed voids 
That part him from his goals. So on he goes, 

An Atlas seeking for some world that waits 


35 


The Death of Essex 
His might to stay its fall, or else to hurl 
Some blessed orb tOTuin. For such will 
There is no place within this balanced realm 
Where might needs ward of reason. 

Cecil. Yea, my liege. 

Were he of old the earth would know the lord 
That it did wait to usher in man's day, 

To slay the primal brutes and shape its lands 
For commoner to till. But our time needs 
Men who can link them with their comrades 
firm 

In patient fellow labour where each one 
Is servant of the other in the moil, 

With many a nip and yet with steadfast pull 
Upon the stubborn load. 

Eliz. He must cry out his woes so all the world 
Shall suffer with him. Yea, he 's never learned 
That man should have a dungeon in his heart, 
Wherein to cage his sorrows so their groans 
May trouble not his kind ; that man should bear 
God's cross as if he loved it, silent on 
The burthened way unto his Calvary, 

And go with modest stillness to his end 

E’en as the Master went. — What should be done? 

Cecil. Give him the rein and let him rage 
afar 


36 The Death of Essex 

E’en as he will, so we may spare our bones. 

His own are past all saving. 

Eliz. Where and how 

To launch our thunderbolt ? It must not be 
To smite himself or us with its rebound ; 

That we must reckon well. 

Cecil. You ’ve named the land 

That ever waits the man we ne’er have found 
To match its needs. God knows what man will 
serve. 

He ’s liker than the others, for his parts 
Are very kin to theirs. Mayhap they ’ll find 
In him the pattern of their ancient kings. 

Eliz. Oh, but his father missed it, — went to 
wreck. 

Cecil. Yet, as we see, was nearest to the port 
Of those who have essayed it : he was free 
With all he had and had not, — in their way. 

Ay, his bewildering valour may command 
The love of those wild kerns who in a sword 
Find warrant of their lord. 

Eliz. There ’s danger there 

Amid these savages of some foul stroke. 

Cecil. Nay, nay, my liege, you wrong your 
savages : 

They are not gentle folk, and ne’er a king 


37 


The Death of Essex 
Reckoned worse subjects for a peaceful state ; 

But they are soldiers in their hearts ; their strokes 
Are ever fairly sent. 

Eliz. This reeks of war 

Where we ’d have peace. 

Cecil. War he must ever have 

At price of breath until his blood is stilled. 

He ’ll take it there the safer, for his sword 
Will win him love. His valour will breed friends 
With folk who set it foremost. If ’t is there. 

You may contrive to keep your lion leashed 
With silken cords so you may draw him back 
If he doth range too far. 

Eliz. We ’ll think of it 

And know the morrow. [Exit Cecil. 

[Alone \ Nay, it is not well. 

Yet is there better ? Would it farther were 
Or not so far ! Would he were not a fool, 

But not of that dry wisdom that doth take 
Man as mere essence in a gallipot 
To be dispensed as physic. Essex, Essex ! 

What ails us, Essex, that we are apart 
And drifting each to shipwreck on our ways ? 

A queen is little when she has to rule 
Men who are born with sceptres in their hearts. 
End of Scene. 


38 


The Death of Essex 


SCENE VI 

Ante-chamber. 

Cecil and Walsingham. 
Walsingham. What came between them ? 
Cecil. Ho, what ever comes, — 

Half hate, half love. The ancient fire burns. 
Among its ashes quick to start and die. 

She dreads to part with him, and yet she fears 
111 chance if he bide here. 

Wal. And what of him ? 

Cecil. He doubts, but dares his fate, — sees 
where he stands 

Upon mere sands amid the eager seas 
That hunger for him, yet as statue firm 
On during rock. The wise may count him fool. 
But never in this world hath folly set 
Such splendour for undoing. 

Wal. What count makes he 

Of help from common folk ? 

Cecil. Nothing of that ; 

Little of friends. He holds himself alone, 

And stays the braver for his loneliness. 

Wal. And yet he hath a host to die for him : 
The town is madly his, and through the land 


The Death of Essex 39 

There runs a clamour that might cheer a king 
In fighting for his crown. 

Cecil. He hears it not 

Or else he counts it idle as the wind. 

I cannot find the springs of his strange moods. 

Or any plan behind them. 

Wal. He has no plan, 

But only stir within his heart to deeds 

Vast and inconsequent ; what shape they ’ll take 

The moment’s chance determines. 

Cecil. Yea, he makes 

A diceboard of this land, and every throw 
Of nimble pieces threatens us with ills 
Like falling stones from sky. — He must away ; 
She knows it, and he goes to Ireland. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE VII 

House of Essex. 

Essex, Captain. 

Captain. Still must we wait ? 

Essex. Ay, we wait. 

Captain. For what tide ? 

Essex. My friend, the deep attends the moon, 
but men 

Attend on lower becks. 


The Death of Essex 


40 

Captain. Let us to sea ; 

There we shall have the freedom of the storms. 
With hearts and hands our own. 

Essex. Think you the deep 

Hath not its shackles ? Nay, we will sail on 
To the Antipodes to find there knaves, 

Deft rogues to chain us while with outstretched 
hands 

They hail us welcome. 

Captain. Our good swords for that. 

Essex. Ay, they will be but hammers in our 
hands 

To rivet on the bonds. I have mine swung 
Right well for freedom ; it has left me slave 
To yonder crooked-back master. 

Captain. Good my lord, 

Break through these trammels of your wits and go 
Forth to free air with us. 

Essex. Yea, so I would, 

But that I am a thrall. 

Captain. Nay, you are free ; 

Never hath God so opened this earth’s gates 

Unto a man. All ages see in you 

The image of the freedom they would win ; 

The eagle in the air finds not his way 
Wider to land and sky. 


The Death of Essex 41 

Essex. Think you the chains 

Must clank about our heels before they fret ? 

The worst of them e’er cramp us in our souls 
To hinder all the deeds that make a man 
God’s image here. 

Captain. In Satan’s name, let’s forth 

And chance new bondage ! Oh my lord, ’t is writ 
That half who dare shall end them on the rock 
Of fate’s grim mountain where the foul bird rends 
Their entrails in the face of pitiless sun. 

So they may serve as sign to bid men go 
The slavish ways their masters whip them on. 

This halteth doubting valour, bids Fame’s ships, 
That should have battled unto pathless seas, 

Rot unlaunched on their ways. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Chamberlain. The Queen awaits Lord Essex. 

Essex [to Captain]. Yea, my friend, 

Our tongues may sometimes trip a prophecy. — 
[To Chamberlain.] Say to our liege I come. 

Chamb. Ay, sir, now. 

Essex [to Captain]. Why wrestle with the fates ? 
’T is writ, ’t is writ. 

Chamb. Ah, what is writ, my lord? 

Essex. That knaves are ever fools, yet prosper 
well 


42 The Death of Essex 

So be their ears are longer than their wits' 

And well linked with their tongues. \Exit Essex. 
Chamb. Our lord is sullen ; what is this that *s 
writ 

To be such burthen on his mighty soul ? 

Captain. This world, good man, hath writ on 
earth and sky 

The epitaphs of all who see the space 
For noble doing ; they alone may read 
Who have nobility ; the rest see nought 
But empty earth and sky. So when you hear 
The mighty call, ‘ ’T is writ/ know that the Lord 
Hath given them to see what ’s graven there 
Above their graves that wait. 

Chamb. Rooking about \ . Nay, I see nought 

But this plain world. 

Captain. You have much company 

In merry blindmen of your ilk, who guess 
When sun is up or down. For ye 't is writ 
Ye take your darkness for the blessed day 
And stumble to your graves. Good man, farewell ; 
Tell to your masters what you here have spied : 

If they pay fitly you 'll be passing rich. 

[ Exit Chamberlain. 

[Alone.]. So ends the Essex of the further seas, 
With scuttled ships and hopes dead on its floor. 
End of Scene. 


The Death of Essex 


43 


SCENE VIII 

Council Chamber. 

Elizabeth, Council. 

'Enter Essex. 

Elizabeth. Welcome, my Essex, though you 
be too late 

To share this council, it hath shared with you 
A noble service that shall bear you far 
And set you free from chafings in this land, — 
Give room for ample deeds. 

Essex. Never a man 

Heard clank of windlass tugging anchor up 
From lee shore trial gladlier than I 
Hear your good words, my Queen. 

Eliz. You would away 

With hail for empires new, — forgetfulness 
For all this gave. 

Essex. Nay, my dear mistress, nay : 

I ’ll freight my ships with precious memories, 

And plant the everlasting seed beyond the sea 
Where biting winds may never blast the fruit ; 
That every cape and isle shall win a name 
Dear to our people, linked with your fame, 

So that the generations ne’er forget 


44 The Death of Essex 

The love and might that gave them chance 
to be. 

Send me for this, my Queen, and every wind 
From o’er the deep will bear to you the hail 
Of your new empire. 

Eliz. Oh my lord, you go 

Past understanding, — would we had your feet 
That winged tread within that realm you dream ; 
But we must plod upon the ways we know. 

And with our fancies pay us for our toil 
When the hard task is done. — Essex, Essex, 
Would that thy queen were of old fairy tale 
To send thee forth to Ormus or to Ind 
And wait upon the shore to see thy ships 
Come back to her ! Alas, she is a drudge. 

Mere keeper of a hostel, who must care 
For tap and stables and all else that ’s vile ; 

For this she hath her servants, whom she pays 
With groats and cuffs. 

Essex. Ah, that, my liege, we know. 

Eliz. Know too she is the mistress of this hold 
To set its order. 

Essex. Show the man who doubts ; 

And he stands as my foe until he falls 
Or sends me down. 

Eliz. 


Well said, my lord. 


The Death of Essex 45 

There ’s more than courtesy in your brave speech ; 
There ’s faith we ’ll need to prove. 

Essex. True faith, my liege, 

Asks but command and room where it may do. 

I wait your will. 

Eliz. You go to Ireland 

To do for us the task of Hercules 
With the Augean stables. Oh my lord, 

Never have faith and might had fairer chance 
To prove their truth to us. [Essex bows in silence .] 
It weights you sore ? 

Essex. Nay, but I bow before my father’s grave 
And see my place beside him. 

Eliz. You turn from it ? 

Essex. My Queen, I ’ve sent brave youth up 
many steeps 

Where well they knew it was their part to die 
With hope alone that ere their eyes were glazed 
They might look up to see their standards fly 
On the far crest and in the victor’s shout 
Hear last of earth until the angels trump. 

I pardoned them their silence; there are times 
When men best doff their caps and hold them still. 
Eliz. Ay, man, but honour lies before you 
there, — 

Not what looks from your eyes. 


The Death of Essex 


46 

Essex. Honour, my liege. 

In beating bogs to butcher outlawed men, 

Chasing those houseless kerns from brake to brake, 
Harrying their helpless, spoiling all that 's left 
By ages of misrule? There's duty there 
Because you bid it done, else nought but shame 
Wherewith to fill my grave. 

Eliz. Oh, this is hard ! 

A moment gone you sought to break the seas 
In search of all the perils of this world ; 

We put you at a ditch and then you balk 
Like spavined jade. 

Essex. My liege must spare me that : 

She knows her servant ne'er hath shrunk to meet 
Ought that hath stood before him. 

Eliz. Ay, 't is true ; 

Be it unsaid. 

Essex. That which the soldier fears 
Is not the ranks before but foes behind. 

Creeping in darkness on him, with the knife 
To hamstring all his actions. Could I bid 
The sea I am to cross turn to the Styx 
So that my foes would have to make them 
ghosts 

Before they won to me, then would I go 
Gladly to that hard doing. Yea, with hope 


The Death of Essex 47 

That by God’s grace I then should win the peace 
I ’d willing pay with life. 

Eliz. [showing papers ^ . These orders give 
To you the master’s place. But hold it well, 

And we will stay you with all England’s strength, 
And stamp on any who may give you halt. 

What would a soldier more ? 

Essex. Ay, he would more : 

To seal this task as certain, he would have 
No might of arms go with him to that shore ; 

But for his host a woman who would bring 
Subjection with her presence, and bear love 
That sure would win where swords mayhap would 
fail, 

How e’er well swung. 

Eliz. Alas, it cannot be : 

We should have passed that gate when we were 
young 

And sure of greeting ; now ’t is shut and barred 
By much offending. Oh Essex, Essex, 

Watch the fair gates that open to thy day. 

Make haste to cross their thresholds, for they close 
As comes the night. Our mentor bids but once. 
And, if unheeded, goes upon his way, 

So that the tablets of our memory 

Hold nothing of his message where they should 


48 The Death of Essex 

Bear clear writ auguries to shape our days 
And save our stumblings. 

Essex. Nay, dear mistress, nay; 

That gate is open for you. 

Eliz. Yea, ’tis shut. 

*T is thine to patch with steel and mend with shot 
That breach within our empire. Mend it well. 
And question not if it was made by shame, 

Dug by the greedy hands of ancient kings. 

And deepened by our own. Oh, did we ask 
Such questions of our deeds, how should we do 
With merry hearts the tasks of living days ? 

So on, and with thee take our faith and love ; 
Know we would have thee back when it is done, 
But in this sending we shall make an end 
Of long half doing. Thou mayst not hie back 
Until we judge it be a perfect deed. 

Bring with thee that fair jewel, if it cost 
All that thou hast of strength. 

Essex. *T will need the might 

Of all this kingdom. 

Eliz. It shall have that might, 

So you but prove the master for its use. 

Ay, this brave task shall prove you. There *s the 
gate, — 

See that it shuts not ere you enter in. 


The Death of Essex 49 

Thus speaks your sovereign ; let thy friend now 
plead : 

Cast from thee, Essex, those foul doubts of men 
Who serve with thee this kingdom ; trust thy 
mates, 

For faith gets faith in action. Was e’er knight 
Struck down in battle by a comrade hand ? 

Still that wild clamour in thy jealous soul; 

For, though it be the eagerness for deeds 
Done on the heights of fame, that clamour slays 
The judgment of the leader, — makes a child, 

A fatal child, when nature wills a man. 

Alas, ’tis mine to bid thee put aside 
The youth that’s been thy glory and to take 
The sorry burthen of the harnessed steed 
Who bows his neck to toil. 

Essex. My sovereign paints 

The man her servant knows not. 

Eliz. Were it hers 

To do God’s work she ’d shape thee so thou ’d’st see 
The folly that is in thee. It must stay 
For fatal revelation in His time. 

Remember, Essex, when this woman pleads 
’T is as a woman, weary, helplessly. 

She lives not in thy sovereign ; from the throne 
It is the King who speaks. 


50 The Death of Essex 

Essex. So will I hear 

The sovereign, not the mistress. 

Eliz. [aside \ . Yea, , t is well 

He harks the sterner voice. His ear is dulled 
By idle trumpets and his eyes are blind 
In his strange maze of fancy. [Aloud. ^ Oh Essex, 
Part we as friends : the sea is wide and deep, 

And hearts are little things in God’s great realm 
Where they are easy lost. 

Essex. Friends, my good Queen. 

J T is a dear word. It comes not from the throne 
That knoweth only subjects to command. 

If they be true they hearken as I shall, 

And question not the way the sceptre points. 

Eliz. Oh, then, good subject, forth upon your 
way ; 

Tread it for sake of duty and for fame, 
Straightforward, steadfast, till we bid you here 
For fit reward. 

Essex. Or till He bids me there [pointing upward ] 
To give last answer for my deeds of earth. 

End of Act First . 


ACr SECOND 

SCENE I 

In the Fields. 

Elizabeth, Sir Harry Compton, Attendants . 
Elizabeth. 

EA, this is fair, — these fields that send 
us corn 

From year to year; they win upon 
the wilds ; 

There mosses know the plough, and here the woods 
Are felled for ships and homes. So blessed Peace, 
God’s angel, rules this land of ancient war. 

\To Compton.] Lend me thine eyes. Sir Harry ; 
mine are dim 

With that which comes of night. What is it 
there 

Upon the verge of sky ? There o’er the lea, 

That glints in sun. 

Compton. My liege, they build a town 

On land new won from tide. There on the hill 
Lifts a fair church. It is to bear the name 



52 The Death of Essex 

Of a dear saint the man of Rome hath struck 
From out the Book, but we have deeper set 
Within our hearts because it is your own 
And ours forever. 

Eliz. They will give my crown 

A noble jewel and my heart a balm. 

Say this to them, my Harry, — that they know 
Their Queen is with them in the work they do. — 
The place lies fair. 

Compton. Most fair, my Queen, and yet 

’T is dearer for its fame than for its site. 

There Alfred fought the Danes. And as they 
delved 

To set the corner stone, they broke a grave 
Of thane he knew who fell in ancient fight 
That won for England peace. And strangely there 
By that thane’s mighty frame and rust of arms 
Shape of a maiden on whose bosom lay 
A cross of changeless gold. Their hands were 
clasped 

When light fell on them, then they went to dust; 
But those who saw them have within their hearts 
A tale of love and valour and of death 
That came to part those lovers in their morn. 
Eliz. Nay, not to part them, but to make them 
one, 


53 


The Death of Essex 
Forever one within the hearts of men. 

’T is a good bed, my friend. 

Compton. Ay, well enough 

Where one needs sleep for long, but in the 
dawn 

It doth not tempt, my Queen. 

[Sound of shot and confusion in train . 
Eliz. So come we back 

To common things. [To Compton.] Go find what 
stir is this. [Exit Compton. 

[Alone .] Thus day by day, for years — 

Enter Captain of Guard. 

Captain. My liege, you ’re safe. 

Eliz. Who sent him here ? 

Captain. Nay, ’t is a woman now, 

A Scot who hid herself in yokel’s garb. 

She blundered with her pistol so she failed. 

Eliz. Ho, with a pistol ? That is not their 
way : 

They fright at arms and seek it otherwise. 

Bring her to us. 

Captain. Nay but, my liege, she ’s wild. 
Eliz. Bring her to us, and gently ; we will 
see 

This new shape of the doing ; bring her now. 

[Exit Captain. 


54 The Death of Essex 

While hot the truth will come to questioning 
That is so easy hid when heart is cold. 

Enter guards with Margaret Lambrun 
bound and clad as a man . Her sex is shown 
by her hair , which has fallen . 

\To Captain.] Undo those cords ; leave us with 
her alone. 

Captain. My Queen, she’s a leashed tigress; 
you ’re not safe 
A moment at her hands. 

Eliz. Safe ! yea we ’re safe 

In heart if not in hide. Do as we bid. 

[Captain loosens cords and retires . Mar- 
garet stands at a distance . 

Come hither, dame. [Margaret draws near.] 
You ’ve set upon our life ; 

Who bade thee smite us ? What was he to pay 
As price for thy hard doing ? Was it thy King, 
Our cousin Scotland ? 

Margaret. Nay, he is a knave; 

We strike no blows for him who would not strike 
To save his mother from thy cruel hands. 

No, no, not he. 

Eliz. Well said, my dame, and true ; 

’T was then our Norfolk’s people ? They ’re afoot 
To heal their wounds with ours. 


The Death of Essex 55 

Mar. Nay, nay, not so : 

They lured her to that death. 

Eliz. Oh, thou seest well ! 

Nor he nor they. Then surely thou wast sent 
By some good priest who told thee how to serve 
Thy Saviour by this deed. 

Mar. Look I so foul 

You think a priest could bid me do his will ? 

I am not of their creed. 

Eliz. Yea, this is strange — 

Who sent thee here ? 

Mar. An I should tell will ye 

Bid them to spare the pain and let me die 
E’en as a woman should : so as she died 
Whom you have slain ? 

Eliz. Ay, that we will ; 

Our faith for that, my dame. We ’ll spare the 
pain 

For all we may. 

Mar. ’ T was my Queen bade me here. 

Eliz. Thy Queen ? Alas ! she ’s dead these years 
agone. 

All that is past to her. 

Mar. Nay, but she lives 

Here in my heart, and cries for me to die 
That she may out of prison. So I came 


56 The Death of Essex 

To win my way to her, and slay her foe ; 

Now let me forth. 

Eliz. Not yet. Come near ; we ’d know 

More of thy Queen and thee. 

[Margaret draws near , looking closely at 
Elizabeth.] What was her mien ? 
’T is said ’t was queenly. 

Mar. Oh, now I see near 

You are her sister twin in face and form. 

Great God ! how like, how like ! Oh, had I seen 
I ne’er had done it. 

Eliz. Yet thou ’st deftly planned 

To send us torture that thou canst not bear, 

In a foul wound whence death comes lingering 
And racks on to the grave. 

Mar. Nay, Queen, not that. 

For if you fell this skene had spared the pain 
As you will mine. [Shows dagger. 

Eliz. Give me the knife. 

[Margaret gives it to Elizabeth. Cap- 
tain springs between them . 

[To Captain.] Away. 

We bade thee be away. Why art thou here ? 
Captain. My liege, we knew not that she had 
that steel ; 

You gave no time to search her. 


The Death of Essex 57 

Eliz. Get thee gone ! [Guard goes away. 

[To Margaret.] It hath good point and edge ; 

’t would find our heart 
With thy stout arm to drive it. 

[ Hands it back to Margaret, who throws 
it towards the Guard. 

Tell us now 

Why she hath bid thee slay. 

Mar. Yea, thus it was: 

I knelt beside her when the axe came down, 

And with it fell ; and when I rose, see, here 
Upon my heart lay drops of her dear blood, 

[ Showing stains . 

And in my ears forever rings the cry 

That she was prisoned there, — just now ’t is gone. 

My good man heard it too until he died 

Of sorrow for our mistress. Let me too 

Unto my rest. 

Eliz. But now that cry is stilled? 

Mar. I hear it not, — where hath it gone ? I ’m 
lost 

In a strange stillness. It will make me mad 
If it dies ’fore me. 

Eliz. Nay, good dame, not mad, 

But healed of thy sore pain, — healed by our side 
Where thou shalt stay. 

[Margaret for a time is silent , then kneels. 


58 The Death of Essex 

Mar. Oh Queen, why slew you her. 

Your noble sister, to eternal shame, — 

A captive, stricken, helpless, near to death. 

Who begged life at your feet ? 

Eliz. Nay, woman, nay; 

We slew her not. 

Mar. Whose then this villain deed 

Of murther such as ne’er this land hath known 
Till done upon her ? 

Eliz. ’T was the Devil’s work. 

Done as the Devil plans it, — by just men 
Each half a saint, but sinner at his call 
To do the little wrongings that doth end 
In monstrous deed of ill. Bide here awhile 
Within our train and judge near by if we 
Are shaped for such deed. 

Mar. [rises ] . Nay, nay, my Queen, 

This is all strange to me. And my dead heart 
Finds not the words to thank you for your grace 
In gift of life. I dare it not ; that cry 
May wake again. Let me be far away. 

Forgot, mayhap forgetting all save this : 

That I have seen my sovereign ere I die, 

What she had been had God but willed her be 
This England’s Queen. 

[Elizabeth signs to Officer, who comes near . 


59 


The Death of Essex 

Eliz. This captive goes 

Straightway to France, to our Embassador 
Commanded for fair helping. See she has 
That which befits a woman who hath knelt 
At death bed of her Queen. 

[Margaret kisses Elizabeth’s hand . 
Exit. 

Enter Cecil. 

Cecil. Once more, my liege ! 

Eliz. Alas, good friend, once more. 

This time it was an echo that doth die 
In saddened heart that ’s lost the strength to smite. 
It brought strange good to us. 

Cecil. The law shall go 

Swift to its purpose, so the knaves shall see 
What end awaits them. 

Eliz. Nay, Cecil, not now. 

It is a hapless creature who died there 
In Fotheringay for love of her dead Queen. 

She wandered here a spectre. We have else 
Than ghosts to fend against. Would she might bide 
With us as proof that hearts may hold to faith 
E’en when the life is out. She would us stay 
In face of what we see of faithlessness 
In those who owe us all. 

Cecil. 


Though she be dead. 


60 The Death of Essex 

She hath the sovereign of this realm assailed. 

And so must die again. 

Eliz. Cecil, behold 

How yonder faithful lieges cringe and plot 
To plunder us of faith and love and hope, 

Coining those goods to ducats. Wonder, then, 
That we find in her who hath sought our life 
What lacketh there, — the willingness to give 
With no hard reckoning upon the pay. 

That woman goes to France and you may go 
To ponder with your fellows on this sign. 

[Exit Cecil. 

[To Compton.] Come, Harry, let us back to that 
dear tale 

Of olden true love, or what fits our hearts 
Of true love new, as it should ever be. 

How fares it with thy suit? We know the lass 
And her hard minded father. He is rich. 

And thou art poor as church mouse in all else 
Than youth’s broad acres and the gold of hope. 
Compton. Ah, it fares ill, dear mistress ; he 
hath barred 

His doors to me. She is within his cage. 

Hid from my eyes a sennight. 

Eliz. So we ’ve here 

A pretty plot to weave into a play : 


The Death of Essex 6i 

A red hot lover and a stone cold sire, 

A locked-up lass, — stuff for our player’s hand. 

He ’d shape it in a trice so it would turn 
To grave or gay, in tears to drown the wind, 

Or wedding dance to shake the boards for aye. 
Tell him thy tale, my Harry ; he will set 
In air a plan that thou may’st bring to earth. 

So comes our best contriving from the wit 
That knows what should be, and doth show the way 
Whereon dull folk may win. 

Compton. Nay, mistress dear. 

Be you the player ; bid your faithful liege 
Give me his daughter who is mine in heart. 

Eliz. Dear lad, this plain contriving will not 
serve ; 

Sir John is mayor of our London town, 

Staunch to his rights as fits a lord who is 
A king to shame his sovereign in his might, 

With stout fenced realm and on his parapets 
A wall of true hearts. We could change with him 
And better by the bargain. Stalk his hold. 

Love is a picklock : find a shrewd way in 
And shrewder with her out, — some clever game 
To set in our fair play. 

Compton. Yea, Queen, but how ? 

His house is like a castle in a siege, — 

A host within and one poor wight without. 


62 The Death of Essex 

Eliz. So better for our play. Stalk it, my knight, 
With some fair trick such as won olden Troy. 
Each castle hath its doors of need and greed, 
Through which the lover slips if love be true. 

Hie at it, man ; bring her the morrow here 
To take our blessing. 

Compton. Ah, my Queen, the clue 

Ye give it me ; the plan will surely win. 

Eliz. Away with it, and tell us in success 
How well ’t was planned. [Exit Compton. 

[A/one,] So while I give with hand or head, they 
stay, 

Eager to take and hold. — I wrong him there : 

He is a true heart, friend to very core, 

True in his noble hunger for his love. 

He is not of the herd. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE II 

At Court. Whitehall Palace. 
Elizabeth, Sir John Spencer, Courtiers . 
Elizabeth [to Spencer]. How now, Sir John, 
. what ’s ill within thy hold 
That thou shouldst glare like warder at his gate 
Who warns a foe away ? 


The Death of Essex 63 

Sir John. My Queen, ’tis well 

Our city ’s true to you, so to itself ; 

From walls unto my doors all goeth well. 

Give you no care to that. 

Eliz. How in thy house ? 

Sir John. My liege, the town is yours; the 
house is mine : 

The trouble that ’s within ’t is mine to bear 
As best I may, alone. 

Eliz. Nay, friend, alone 

We bear no burthens ; yea, they bear us down ; 
They are thy sovereign’s even as thy joys 
Are hers to share. 

Sir John. Madam, you know full well 

I have a daughter, sole child of my house, 

Heir to a fortune won in honest ways ; 

And you have here a gallant pretty knave 
Who idles out his days in caperings. 

And fawns for bread he knows not how to earn. 
You know the rest. The lass is safely locked : 
Rather than have her breed such vagrant drones, 

I ’ll wed her to some prentice. 

Eliz. Ho, Sir John, 

You gird at us and practise on our state. 

Beware ; thou see’st but what doth greet thine eyes 
Across thy dirty counters ; thou shalt learn 


64 The Death of Essex 

Our knight is prentice in a worthy trade 
Where kings are master workmen, and the gain 
Is the good safety that doth fend thy till 
From robber’s hands. We ’ll teach our London’s 
lord 

How ends such insolence. 

Sir John. And he will teach 

His sovereign how the citizen doth hold 
Rights that no king may wrong and stay a king 
With faithful, loving subjects. 

Eliz. Halt, Sir John. 

We will not shake thy faith ; we ’ll leave thy house 
To be thy castle as it rightly stays. 

Thou know’st the ever issue of this game 
’Twixt locks within and love without. We ’ll see 
How our Sir Harry wins it with the wit 
Our shop breeds in its prentice. 

Sir John. Let him try ; 

He ’ll find how those who ’ve learned to guard their 
tills 

Will match contrivance with him. If he wins 
He ’ll have the lass to keep. 

Eliz. So it is gaged. 

Go, double locks and guards ; the wedding ’s set 
The morrow morn. 

Sir John. There we will send the groom, 


The Death of Essex 65 

Mayhap with skewer through him ; but the bride 
Will bide elsewhere. 

Eliz. Now fare thee well. Sir John; 

We ’ve had an honest parley. Let us stay 
Good friends who dare to speak what ’s in their 
minds ; 

Alas, your Queen needs such. 

Sir John. My liege, this ill. 

Sore as it is, shall never break the bond 
That holds me to your throne. 

Eliz. But not to me. 

Farewell, Sir John, we ’ll better that betimes. 

[ Exit Sir John. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE III 

Courtyard of Mayor’s Palace. 

Sir John Spencer, Clod, Servants . 

Sir John. Is all well barred ? 

Man. Ay, master, we ’re shut fast, 

So that a mouse can neither in nor out 
But we shall know it. 

Sir John. Ho, we ’ll show the town 

That we can hold our castle ’gainst her knaves 
Who would break in and steal. We ’ll trust our 


staves 


66 The Death of Essex 

To match their vaunted swords, our tradesman’s 
wits. 

In counter with their paltry court bred tricks 
To keep our daughter. 

Man. Ay, sir, she is safe : 

We have a dozen men at every gate. 

Picked from your docks, whose thews are strong as 
steel ; 

They ’ll give you good account. 

Sir John. So, so, my liege. 

[Aside.] We play the game and win. 

Enter from within Baker’s Prentice with basket 
on head . 

I ’ll sooner match 

My lass with such as he than with her knight 
Of swaggering wit and lazy, nerveless frame. 

Yea, he’s a sturdy fellow, though his trade 
Makes half baked men. 

Baker. Good morrow, Sir Mayor. 

Sir John. Good morrow, lad. Thy basket 
seemeth light. 

Baker. - Ay, light as empty air. 

Sir John. Hast left us bread 

To stay us in our siege ? 

Baker. Yea, there is store 

For all your need. That rascal will not try 


The Death of Essex 67 

To match his might with yours. Mayhap he ’ll fit 
Contrivance for his end. Look to that well : 
They say he ’s crafty. 

Sir John. Ah ha, he shall find 

Contriving is our trade ; we ’ll match him there 
To quick his wits. 

Baker. Ay, you will give him that 

Which shall be help for all his days to come ; 
Betimes he ’ll thank you for it. [ Exit Prentice. 

Sir John. See the lad! 

There is the manly stuff that ’s bred in toil. 

He takes his burthen lightly. How he goes 
With feet as deft as ever courtier 
Who capers round a throne ; with wits as keen 
As even she can sharpen ! [Sees Clod.] Ha, old 
Hump, 

What seek ye here ? 

Clod. Crook’d happenings, Sir Jack. 

Sir John. Then bide at home for that ; a look- 
ing glass 

Will show thee more than here. 

Clod. We’ll see, we’ll see, 

What devil time will delve. His humpbacked crow 
Hops by his furrow till his belly ’s full. 

Then celebrates his meal. You ’ll hear him caw 
Soon to all London. 


68 The Death of Essex 

Sir John. Go to, thou vagrant fool. 

Thy pack is full of mischief. 

Clod. Nay, good Hump, 

Thy pack is fuller yet with mischief worse 
In weighty coin that Satan’s clerks will change 
To suit his customers. 

Sir John. Who sent thee here 

To set us crooked riddles ? 

Clod. ’T was this nose, — 

A nose that ’s near the ground, and catches scent 
Of fox trail leading to a neighbour’s hens. 

Besides a fancy for a chaffer good 
With brother Hump, who sees this busy world 
With true philosophy, that knows its own 
Likewise to keep it safe, of honest guild 
That gathers substance, guarding it so well 
That states may stay spite spendthrifts. — How is 
that ? 

Is that a riddle ? 

Sir John. Nay, clear gospel, Clod ; 

There ’s wisdom ’neath thy folly. 

Clod. Yea, my Hump, 

’T is that which loads us down that lifts us up ; 
The choice is of the fardel. Straight backs bear 
The pack within their pockets or their hearts 
That ’s better ’twixt the shoulders. 


The Death of Essex 


69 

Go to, Clod, 


Sir John. 


Thou canst not set the fashion. 
Clod. 


See, Sir Jack. 


How ye the common kind must lend your backs 
To bear the Devil’s burthens as your own. 

While we born with our load are free to go 
Our way unfardelled save by our good deeds, — 
Fair humps their bearers fend from chance of 
whacks 

And serve as do the camels’ for a store 
Awhile they cross the deserts. 

Sir John. Stay! a truce 

To this palaverous nonsense. What ’s the quest 
That sends thee here ? 

Clod. Prithee, my dull mayor, 

Our discourse of men’s burthens was begun 
In wonder what that baker bore away ; 

’T was twice the load he brought, some ten stone 
weight. 

And yet we saw he went with nimble feet 
And with a merry mind. 

Sir John. What is it, knave? 

Clod. Who was it rather that hath prentice 
played 

In this old game ? He minds me of a man, 

A certain Compton I have seen at court. — 


70 The Death of Essex 

Ho, now I have it : he ’s the baker lad ; 

The lass was in his basket ; by this time 

They ’re man and wife. Ha, ha, how long it takes 

Clod’s eyes to see what is before his nose ! 

Ho, ho ! ha, ha ! Had he not been a fool 
You might have had him. 

Sir John. Devil take thy tale ! 

We ’ll send thee if ’t is true. \To Servants .] Search, 
search! We’ll know 

If scoundrels thus may plunder ’fore our eyes. 

Clod. No, not so hard : it was a game of wits 
’Twixt our good Queen and her best merchantman 
In traffic for a maid. 

Servant. She ’s gone, she ’s gone ! 

Sir John \to Clod]. Knave, thou hast shared this 
doing. 

Clod. As Clod shares 

All follies he can find. His task ’s to see 
How fare his neighbours, and to help them out 
Or in their messes. Yea, my good mayor. 

You’ve trafficked with a Tudor, and you ’ve lost ; 
Take counsel of your counter and be wise 
I’ the good tradesman’s way and make the best 
Of this o’erreaching. 

Sir John. I ’ve a mind to drown 

Thy crooked carcase in the nearest ditch ; 


7 1 


The Death of Essex 
But it will serve me better hence to bear 
My last word unto her who was my child : 

Say that the furthest of all unfound isles 
Is nearer to her than this house shall be ; 

Say that this father is as dead to all 
The love that sprang with her as mummied dust 
’Neath Egypt’s pyramids; the ship that bore 
Our sometime joined lives hath found its port 
In the unfathomed sea. 

Clod. Nay, nay, good hump. 

Your ship is staunch enough. The master’s sick 
As ever landsman ; he will mend ashore, 

Though now he ’d never think it. 

Sir John. Go! thy shape 

Is monstrous to me. Go, yet bear my words ; 

Else thou wilt find the ditch. 

Clod. Ay, ay, Sir Jack, 

They ’ll make good capping to a merry tale ; 

’T will fare with all the rest the world around ; 

To ‘ furthest isles ’ and ‘ pyramids ’ and eke 
To every tavern in our mayor’s town 
Before the sun is set. [Exit Sir John .furiously. 
Clod [sings]. 

The cuckoo bird hath never a nest , 

But he fareth well withal ; 

For he roosts where he wills and his belly he Jills 
In the wide world his good hall . 


72 The Death of Essex 

Ho, ho, ho ! Our fair philosophy 
Did tangle up his wits and give them time 
To ’scape his guessing. Now, Clod, to thy Queen 
Before the story ’s stale. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE IV 

Queen’s Chamber in Whitehall. 
Elizabeth, Clod. 

Elizabeth. How now, my fool, what news ? 
It should be rare : 

Thou hast thy funeral air that bodeth fun. 

Out with it, Clod. 

Clod. Faith, my good dame, ’tis tale 

Most lamentable, for our friend the mayor 
Hath lost his daughter. 

Eliz. Is his daughter dead? 

An it were true ’t would come out with a grin 
To mock our sorrow. 

Clod. He proclaims her dead : 

Clod saw her strangely hearsed and forth to church ; 
A basket for her coffin and it borne 
By a stout prentice wondrous like a man 
Who capers in your train. He has light heels, 


The Death of Essex 73 

For he danced down the street with good ten stone 
Within his empty basket safely packed ; 

While the chief mourner discoursed learnedly 
Concerning humps with Clod for half an hour 
Ere it was well resolved, unto the end 
That each man bears his own ; and so the proof 
Came pat upon the discourse, for he hath 
The best his back can bear. 

Eliz. So we have won. 

Clod. Outtricked a tradesman who hath known 
full well 

That traffic with a Tudor meant sharp trade 
And ware to common wits. 

Eliz. We ’ll need our own 

To mend this matter. Lord of London town 
Counts two for any King beyond the sea ; 

One with the King he owns. 

Clod. Give him the time 

To sputter out his rage, for swearing oaths 
Of that he ’ll do and not, — a year to stew 
In his own sauce, — then end it easily 
As you have done the wooing. 

Eliz. How, Clod, how? 

Clod. Ask not this fool for that. Be sure you ’ll 
find 

Some other stalking basket by that time. 


The Death of Essex 


74 

Eliz. Ho, Clod, I see the game. 

Clod. Clod will but watch 

To see it played and swear it was his own, 

Though now he will not guess it, so it be 
As clever as the last. Ha, ha. Sir Jack, 

That was a well made prentice ! — Let Clod go 
To wag the tale through London. Then a laugh 
Will season what of mischief it may hold ; 

The fun shall fence his rage within his walls 
And make him grin for safety. 

Eliz. Yea, my fool. 

Thou art a wise one in thy rambling way. 

[Exit Clod. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE V 

A London Street. 

Clod, Courtier. 

Clod [sings]. 

The fool is the freeman , the wise man the slave 
To his yesterday' s wit or that of his morrow ; 
With a crack and a whack in a jest or a stave 
The fool hath his day with night of no sorrow. 

The measure ' s right merry , the music is cheery , 

So dance it and prance it ; let wisdom go hang — 


75 


The Death of Essex 
Courtier. Ho, Clod, where now ? 

Clod. To tavern with a tale 

To take the town. 

Courtier. Stay, Clod, and tell it me. 

Clod. Then ’t were twice told : that fits the 
wise ; the fool 

Must ring the rafters with jokes ever new, 

Else he will get his sack without the cup 
Or bread wherewith to sup. Come, you shall split 
Unless Clod dies in telling. 

[Sings.] 

A locked up lass and an ancient ass 9 
The mayor of London town ; 

A baker's boy with a basket full \ 

A lover who will not down — 

Are properties of my good puppet show ; 

Come see them dance upon the tavern’s board. 

[ Exit Clod and Courtier. 
End of Act Second. 


AC? ?HIRD 



SCENE I 

Chamber of Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth, Cecil. 

Elizabeth \aside\. 

|OW be the Lord with us, for in the 
face 

Of that brave down bent servant it is 
writ 

His back doth bear sore load. [To Cecil.] How 
now, Cecil, 

What day from Ireland ? 

Cecil. My liege, the west 

Sends us no morning. 

Eliz. Would it kept its night 

From surging back upon us. What ’s the tale 
That we must now digest ? What hath he done 
With the stout host we sent him to break down 
Rebellion’s front and waste its ancient holds ? 

Is Tyrone taken ? 

Cecil. Nay, the rebel stays 

Lord of his land and folk. 


The Death of Essex 77 

Eliz. Oh, but our Essex ’s brave 

Rash, headlong, never wont to waste his strength 
In lazy tents. Sure there ’s been doing there : 

Men change not thus in faring o’er the sea ; 

He was my madcap Essex on Spain’s shore 
With thunder for her gates. 

Cecil. Yet there be lands 

That change the souls of men, for from their earth 
Rise vile distilments that do swerve their thoughts 
From their appointed purpose till they know 
Other than birthright deeds. 

Eliz. So — so you mean — ? 

Cecil. My liege, I only read what is clear writ 
And render it for action. My lord went 
With force and mandate to crush out Tyrone, 

The source of all that ill. Scarce thirty leagues 
Lay twixt him and his goal. He went not there. 
But on a progress where there was no foe 
Worthy his arms, yet such as wore his power 
To shadow of the substance that you gave. 

In vain and hopeless toiling on hard ways 
That break men’s hearts. 

Eliz. All that we have passed o’er. 

The ripest soldier may judge errantly, 

But must have judgments right in face of deeds 
His task doth bid him do. His shrunken force 


j 8 The Death of Essex 

Was stouter for those trials ; he hath might 
To lend stout purpose to the waiting hearts 
That hunger for their portion. 

Cecil. A month ago 

He marched against him. 

Eliz. Ah, ’t is well ; say on. 

Cecil. Marched with but half his force, and 
half the count 
Of that stout rebel's muster. 

Eliz. Yet they were 

Picked men and proved ; so they will know our 
might 

The better if they bow them to a few 
Than Tore a whelming host. 

Cecil. Oh my good liege. 

Your soul led not your legions ; they are back 
With undrawn swords and never battle set 
After their master had a parley held 
Alone with Tyrone. There were none to hear 
The covenant they made. It stands a truce, 

For what or how we know not. 

Eliz. Nay, my lord, 

Such deed ’s not his. Tell me of battle rash 
With him dead in the forefront ; tell of rout 
That comes when leader such as he is gone. 

When, with his fatal passing, hearts become 


79 


The Death of Essex 

Mere empty vessels that his soul once filled 
With eager valour. 

Cecil. Here, my liege, ’t is writ ; 

[ Handing Elizabeth a letter . 
He tells the story well ; but we may read 
More than there is set down. 

[Elizabeth reads and is long silent . 
Eliz [aside ^ . Oh Essex, thou hast found an evil 
end ! 

Why did we send thee to this sacrifice ? 

[To Cecil.] My lord, ’t is treason ! 

Cecil. Nay, not yet so far. 

But on that peril’s way : he hath a host 
Led by his new made knights, and to his will 
The foes you bade him crush ; within this land 
A multitude of lovers, — men who bow 
Before him as a prince ; beyond the seas 
Kings smile on him and point unto your throne. 
He stands on further bank of Rubicon; 

Till now he ’s faithful, yet some whirl of wits 
May hurl him forth upon the traitor’s way : 

The avalanche is heaped. 

Eliz. He ’s true or false ; 

His spirit trifles not ’twixt false or true. 

But goeth straightway on its eager quest. 

Alas, we read it here. [Lifts letter .] 


8o The Death of Essex 

Cecil. My liege, this world 

Hath ways that lead us on but never show 
In all their honest seeming what ’s the goal 
Until the wanderer doth find the deep 
We ’ve seen so many find. 

Eliz. What should be done ? 

Cecil. He is your servant still ; fend ’gainst the 
steps 

That set him master. While he bides afar 
Those several limbs of danger are disjoined ; 

If he comes here they link them in a life 
To threat your own. So force him there to stay. 
Your soldier still against rebellious might. 

Let Erin fence him till some morrow break 
The tangle of to-day. 

Eliz. Thy counsel ’s good. 

If ever wisdom hath a chance to guide 
When madmen shape a state ; it gives the hope. 
The sorry hope, we save him from himself. 

We will deny his truce, bid him fight on 
’Gainst that arch rebel he hath made his friend, 
Command his captains on their faith to stay 
The other side of sea ; so we may fend 
From what he will, or, willing not, may do 
As madness bids. Care well that all our force 
Is mustered for these dangers. 


The Death of Essex 8i 

Cecil. Ay, that’s done ; 

We summons wait from Spain and reckon it 
Along with what this other may us send. 

Faggots are heaped upon a thousand hills 
And good faith watches by them with blown fire. 
Eliz. A strange, strange world that sends us as 
a foe 

The man who in his youth would die for faith 
And raged for lack of chance to prove him leal. 
Oh Cecil, this which was a noble realm 
Is worn and old and villain in its age, 

Scarce worth this clatter for its good and ill, — 
Mere fight of dogs o’er bones. 

Cecil. Nay, nay, my Queen, 

This world is like its neighbour in the sky, — 

To wax and wane, but still to journey on 
Through light or dark in splendour, for it goes 
With God upon its way. This fecund earth 
Hath winters pregnant with expectancy 
Of mighty harvests reaped, and every drought 
Doth send its hope to heaven. 

Eliz. A fair account 

That reckons harvests ; not the hearts that rain 
Dear blood to bring them from unwilling fields. 
Or dust that erst was valour that must go 
Back to the clods that men to come may glean 


82 The Death of Essex 

A little life by dying. Go to with that ; 

We ’ll sweat about our trade and see this day 
Safe to its garner in the emptiness. 

Look that our council and our trusty folk 
Know that the sea holds storm ; nothing as yet 
Of what may come from him. Ay, you are right ; 
He still is faithful, still our madcap youth 
Who beats the doors of faith where’er they bar 
His furious purposes ; and yet would take, 

As willing as he sends it, death to save 

His mistress and his state. Farewell, my lord, 

Let ’s hold from slaying fears, betraying hopes. 
And keep cold hearts for faithful reckonings. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE II 

Audience Room in Dublin Castle. 
Essex, Harrington. 

Essex [to Messenger ] . Go bid the captains of my 
ships prepare 

To heave their anchors at an instant’s sign, 

So quick that they may sail by ebb of tide 
When ’t is way to the full. [Exit Messenger. 

Harrington. What tide, my lord ? 


The Death of Essex 83 

Essex. Tide of the deep, my friend, that goeth 
forth 

Into the dark. Who knows whereto it runs ? 

God bids it come for us when He would have 
His purposes accomplished. Think you, then. 
This wondrous heaving of the restless sea 
Is more than token of the tide that sends 
Men to their destiny ? ’T is but a sign 
To show us how the sightless deeps above 
Beat with majestic pulses that bear on 
God’s hosts to do His will. 

Har. Nay, nay, my lord. 

I *ve swum against the sea and trod the earth ; 

I have but seen those spaces of the sky 
As men may see them, — in their day and night. 
What sways there I know not. But this I know : 
The tides that drift a man spring in his soul; 

If it be stedfast, then, for all their change, 

His feet stay firm. 

Essex. Ay, thou see’st not afar. 

Har. Alas, my lord, nor overwell what ’s near ; 
But in the glimmer catch what man needs know. 
To do his daily round. 

Essex. A mole for that. 

Enter Blount and Gorges. 

Welcome, good Blount ; what of our force to-day ? 


84 The Death of Essex 

Blount. They’re back and tented, what is left 
of them. 

Essex. They ’re fit for deeds ? 

Blount. That hangs on what ’s to do : 

If ’t be to beat the bogs, they ’re not for that : 
They ’d stack their arms, or worse, at such com- 
mand. 

Face them to east; they ’d swim the Irish Sea 
And count the faring easy as they drowned. 

Essex. This is rank mutiny ! 

Blount. My lord, it is; 

But with the best of soldiers comes a time 
When shame and starving hath eat out their 
hearts. 

Then they are hulks who would have died as men 
E’en in lost battle. 

Essex. How many have we ? 

Blount. Ten thousand pair of legs; the tale of 
hearts 

Mayhap the tenth of that. But if they stood 
A day on English ground, then were they worth 
The best of Caesar’s legions, for they ’re trained 
As never yet a host that ’s trod our isle 
Since the stout Romans left. They need but hope 
To give a leader joy. 

Enter Southampton. 


85 


The Death of Essex 

Essex. Good Southampton, 

Your coming fits our need. 

Southampton. There ’s need enough 

To fit with many ; goings too, mayhap. 

Her messenger is here, or is it his ? 

Bearing strange orders : to each several knight, 

On peril of his life, that he bide here 
Until he ’s bidden home, and with this comes 
Rumour that Spain is once more on the sea, 

With doubled force again to try our shores 
That Ralegh shall command. 

Essex \to Blount]. How many ships stay ready 
in our port? 

Blount. Enough to take our host and arms 
they bear ; 

None for the followers, nor for our store. 

They will be packed like herrings, yet the wind 
Is from the west and fair. 

Essex. *T is but a chance ; 

But hold them there, put a safe guard on each 
So they slip not away. He may have planned 
That we be prisoned here when Spain comes on 
And our liege cries in vain for our good help. 

Find you for us how our knights like the word 
That he hath sent them. If they read it right 
And catch its further meaning, ’t is command 


86 The Death of Essex 

Such as the soldier harks, but measures well 
By duty to his faith that passeth words. 

Here we must act as men who in the fight 
Are parted from their captains, but war on, 
Trusting God’s help. We narrowly must scan 
Those orders with the seal of England’s Queen 
And make our loyal judgment. 

\Exit Essex and Southampton. 

Gorges \to Harrington]. There’s our lord, 
Who but a year ago trod o’er this earth 
With steps to shake its hills, now groping on 
As if he feared the dark. He hath not heart 
To break this prison with its paper gates 
And jailers stuffed with straw. 

Har. He is yet brave ; 

But in this action comes to him his God 
With mighty questionings to daunt the soul 
That knows not fear of man. Your Caesar there 
Beside the Rubicon had but a brook 
Betwixt him and his purpose ; he hath here 
A sea to cross, a deep and troubled sea, 

With more than mortal fears to bar the way 
Unto his Rome. 

Gorges. We ’ll bring him back to deeds, 

Make him himself in doing. Sword in hand 
He will again be Essex, thundering on 


8y 


The Death of Essex 
To Cadiz’ gates. With all our host aship 
And roaring for its master, he will be 
Once more the glorious madcap of this world. 

Har. Nay, man, there is another Master there 
Who ruleth in this hour. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE III 

Hall of Dublin Castle. 

Essex, pacing steadfastly . Harrington, 
watching him . 

Harrington [musingly\ My lord hath trod an 
hour, to and fro 

As caged lion who would range the fields 
From which hard fate doth part him. He shall 
end 

This monstrous chase of shadows. 

[To Essex.] Ho, my lord, 

You bade me here for service. Say your will ; 

My heels are frozen while I wait for it. — 

He hears me not. His soul is past the sea 
While his sick body sways here to and fro. 

This is akin to madness. [Walks by Essex.] Stay, 
my lord; 


88 The Death of Essex 

You wear your dear life in this phantasy. 

Speak to me ! Let me take thy rage 
Rather than this. \Shakes him.] My lord ; thy 
sword hath less 

To rend thy servant than this sight of thee 
So parted from thyself. Rouse, or thou ’It die ! 
Thy body here ; thy soul — dear God knows 
where. 

Yea, if they be not sundered, this will wake 
The life that ’s left them. 

. [ Draws Essex’s sword, places it in his hand, 
and strikes it with his own . At the clash 
Essex springs upon him. They fight. 
Essex. Fiend, thou hast chased me all this 
world around. 

But now I come to bay. The hunt is up 
And one of us shall die. 

Har. The charm works well, 

A little better than I hoped, and yet 
His dear hand ’s weak. Now I may shake his 
g ri p; 

Then for the turn he taught me. 

[Essex is disarmed. He glares vacantly . 
Harrington clasps him. 

Essex. What means this ? Where ’s my sword ? 
I heard its clash. 


The Death of Essex 89 

’T is a strange world where blades from scabbards 
leap 

To dance against the wall. 

Har. My lord, you slept 

And started in affright, and so it fell. 

[Takes sword and returns it to sheath . 
Your good friends go not willing from your side : 
Trust them for that. 

Essex. Oh Harry, I have had a woeful dream. 
That seeming ran the course of all my days, 
Where from my youth to age I was bayed on 
By tireless sleuths that trailed me round this 
world ; 

But when an instant’s valour bade me turn 
To face them as a man, — behold, those hounds 
Changed to the semblance of my faithful friends 
Who lent me courtesy. But when my eye 
Passed from their own, again that villain pack 
Bayed on my trail as forth my weary soul 
With shame its master flew. 

Har. ’T is but a dream, 

Part of the rags and rubbish of the mind 
That makes us glad that there is else than sleep. 
For when they dream, Achilles is a loon 
The meanest Trojan frights, Nestor’s a fool, 

And Ajax hides him when the lightnings wink. 


90 The Death of Essex 

They wake unto themselves and thank the gods v 

That dreams are idle nothings. 

Essex. Nay, that dream 

Is picture of my life. For as it drew 
Its fearful length, I felt that it had been 
Played thousand times before upon the stage 
Whose curtains lift when lids of eyes go down. 

It shall have use, for it doth paint me true, 

A caitiff who hath worn his life away 
Because he dared not face a pack of hounds. 

It is God’s lesson. 

Har. Master, use that dream 

As common men are wont to, — contrawise. 

You are the hunter, they the hunted pack 
Who seemed to hound you ; so you fitly give 
The lie to those arch traitors of the dark, 

And cuff them out the way. 

Essex. Good Harrington, 

Thy world is like a map with plain ways writ 
On a clear sheet ; with it thou may’st fare on 
And nothing reck of deeps of earth or sky. 

Yet they are all the realm to those who see 
Beyond this barren day. 

Har. Oh my dear lord. 

The earth and sky are strange enough to shake 
The wits that peer too far. We thank our stars 


9 1 


/ 

/ T&fi Death of Essex 
1'nat they have set us in these blessed fields 
With eyes that blink at deeps and at vain dreams. 
The day and deed for us ! 

Essex. You cannot help, 

For you see not my need. 

Har. My lord, I came 

Upon your summons, ready with my all 
For your command. I know full well that need. 
As all true men must know who serve with you. 
Let us about it, and these dreams will fade 
In wholesome waking. 

Essex. Ay, I will, and now 

The morrow we ’ll to ship and set our host 
Where it may serve this realm. We’ll face those 
hounds 

And, presto, see them change to gentle knaves 
And laugh at their meek fawning. 

Har. [aside]. Still the dream ! 

Alas ! he hath not waked from that strange sleep. 
[To Essex.] Dear master, we came here charged by 
our liege 

To beat down rebel might. She bids us stay 
Till she would have us back. Good morrow 
comes 

When we set hard afoot for Tyrone’s hold. 

He’s shamed that truce ; send answer in a stroke 


\ 




92 The Death of IkisEX 


That shall give Erin peace or send us where 
Our graves shame not our sires. 


’T is a boy’s word. 


Essex. 


See, lad, how if we beat him we must lose 
In the hard doing that which gives us strength 
To meet the mightier treason o’er the sea. 

And if he win, we still are shorn of power 
And lesser by a friend who may serve well 
In tussle with those traitors. I ’m sent here 
To wear my life out in this misery. 

Where winning is foul shame and loss is death 
To all of me they fear. They did not see — 

Fools that they are — how easy ’t is to leap 
The ditch that shuts me in. Yea, when they find 
Our men are on them they will know that God 
Turns vile contriving to His noble ends. 

Go, Harry ; ’t is for this I bade thee here ; 

Make ready for the tide. 

Har. See, master, see 

Whereto this wild way leads. See there its goal 
In ruin of this land or of thyself : 

The winning is the loss of thy fair name ; 

Defeat is shameful death. 

Essex. Nay, my good lad. 

This is no place for fancies, but for deeds ; 

We ’ve chaffered like dull tradesmen, while our foes 


93 


The Death of Essex 
Are spoiling all this realm. No mortal holds 
This folk in fee ; it is the Lord’s alone 
To do His mighty work. Too long I ’ve played 
With His commandments ; now I hear His voice 
In thunder from the deep bid me straight on. 

So swift I may, to do His noble will, 

With no more questioning. 

Har. Dear master, see : 

If we go forth, so soon our anchors trip 
We are all damned traitors; our fair right 
In England’s glory changed for a noose 
To choke our villain lives out. Ask what men 
Who love thee, yet are lieges of our Queen, # 
May give of service: Nay, at wave of hand 
We’ll forth to seek our graves as eagerly 
As ever lover lass. 

Essex. Get thee away ! 

Let that knight’s sword I gave thee rust in sheath 
While true men fight for England. 

Har. Oh my lord, 

This sword, your gift, is dear to me as life, 

Dear as the love that drew me to your side. 

It shall not serve against you, no, nor rust, — 

I break it on your threshold. [Breaks sword.] Other 
blade 

Shall meet the need to come. 


94 The Death of Essex 

Essex. Ho, ’t is thy part 

To break thy sword when thou dost hear command 
That pleases not thy fancy ? Know, poor fool, 

’T is mine to slay thy mutiny. [Draws sword . 

Har. Ay, strike ! 

My heart lies with my sword. I shall not find 
A better way to die than by the hand 
That gave them both to me. 

Essex. Nay, thou shalt live 

To see what brave men do who are true knights 
And stay their leader. Go, hide in a ditch, 

While they, thy sometime comrades, hie them on 
To glorious victory. Ho, Chamberlain, 

Show here our men who wait. 

Enter a Throng of Knights . 

[To Knights .] Hail ! my brave knights, 

Ye ’ve long been craving for the tasks of men : 
Such now are yours to do. They sent us here 
To wear our lives away and give them room 
For practice on the Queen they’ve made their thrall; 
We go the morrow there to make her free, — 

To kneel before her and to set our swords 
Against the gaolers of her sovereignty. 

Let those who will with me draw sword and swear 
To free our loved England. 

[Knights stand motionless . 


The Death of Essex 95 

Speak, brave men. 
Defend your honoured names from this foul doubt 
Your silence puts on them. 

Lumley. My lord, here stand 

Your faithful servants, men who owe their all 
Of honour and of hope to you. We know 
The strength that ’s in us came from your greaT 
soul; 

For you we ’d willing die, wherever men 
May fitly die. Alas ! we cannot forth 
With arms turned ’gainst the throne that sent us 
here. 

Essex. Nay, but ye go to save, and ne’er were 
arms 

More honourably borne than these we turn 
Upon foul treason, that denies our realm 
Your mighty succour ’gainst the hosts of Spain 
Once more on way to us. 

Lumley. Let her command 

And we will tread that sea to stay her throne ; 

But she doth bid us stay, and here we bide, 

So be it for our graves. [ All assent . 

Essex. Our mighty mother, who of old bore 
men, 

Hath now a barren womb, and in their stead 
Come vain abortions whereon we hang arms 


g6 The Deaths Essex 

As purposeless as those that rust in graves. 

Away with ye ! Go hide ye in your tents, 

And wait in safety while your captain dares 
Alone the fight he bade ye share with him. 

This task was for a host ; ’t is now for one. 

And one shall do it. 

ist Knight. Would that he were our king, for 
then we ’d go 

Knights errant o’er this world. 

2D Knight. Ay, he is king in fancy, and is 
forth 

For sorry reckoning. [Exit Knights . 

Essex \alone \ . Yea, I remember well 

How Alexander stood before the wall. 

So vast that from its crest the myriad foe 
Scarce downward sent their shouts of gay disdain, 
A.nd while his weary host drew through the night 
As heroes who know well the morning brings 
A task impossible, whereon they ’ll wreck 
The goodly profits of their storm tossed lives, 
Alone he scaled that rampart, burst within. 

And by his war god’s front made such assail 
That all the hosts of fancy fought with him 
Until he won the gate and set it wide. 

There is a might that seconds him who dares 
With lion heart to face embattled foes. 


97 


The Death of Essex 
For to his side spring shades of warriors dead, 
And, though they be but shadows, mightier 
Than well fleshed caitiffs. Ay, that shall be done : 
Alone I ’ll win that gate. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE IV 

Deck of Ship in Port. 

Essex and Attendants . 

Essex [looking over the sea ] . Y ea, there ’s a favour- 
ing tide within this deep 
That pauseth not for Caesar. Oh thou sea. 

Slow heaving in thine age out-during sleep. 

Thou art the bosom of this maiden earth 
Who waits the lover brave enough to wake 
Her life to noble joy. 

Enter Master. 

Master. My lord, we wait 

But for your word to sail. 

Essex. Up anchor then, — 

Up and away unto the heaving main. 

The scent of it is sweeter than the fields 
That bear the vintage rich of Cadiz shore 
Where bacchanals may drink the airy wine 
And revel in its draughts. 


9 8 


The Death of Essex 


SONG OF SAILORS. 

ist Voice . Good bye , sweethearts , anchor is atrip . 
Chorus . Swing mates away y now we are for the 
sea . 

Voice. Good bye , sweethearts , sail is on the ship . 
Chorus . Swing mates away , for we forth to the 
sea . 

Voice. Wave all your kerchiefs , your pretty 
eyes , 

Chorus. Swing mates away , ^ forth to the sea. 

Master. Now kedge is up, — quick with ye, 
bowse it home, 

Hoist jib, hard down the helm, she is away : 

And, if the devil wills it, morrow morn 
We ’ll raise a land where churchyard ’s merrier 
Than the best tavern of this damned isle. 


SCENE V 

Poop of Ship. Ireland in distance. 

Essex, 

Essex. How fair e’en hell may look when seen 
afar ! 

Yon isle in kiss of morn should be the nest 


99 


1 Tfhe" Death of Essex 
For.rhother earth to shelter noblest brood 
Of men to people all her waiting lands. 

There peace should nurture what fair days may send 
Of honour, freedom, faith. Yet ’t is a hell, 
Whereto the raving tempests of this main. 

With death astride its surge and all its floor 
Thick paved with wrecks, is haven for the soul 
That 'scapes yon during woe. It sums man’s shame 
And proves his foul additions, when a land 
That God hath shaped for light should never know 
The meaning of a day. There is the work 
Of countless tyrants, done the ages on, — 

Lean bellied wolves who hungered and had fangs. 
Oh plenteous sea, who from thine ample womb 
Hath borne us realms with all their wondrous life-. 
We, their unworthy masters, wait thy child 
Who shall set mercy’s foot upon our necks 
And smite in justice. 

Enter Harrington, timidly . 

Ah, good Harrington ! 

My heart awaited thee. I ’m sore alone, 

Though lightened of yon horror {pointing to shore ], 
so I called 

Unto this fecund deep to send the cure 

In some fair shape. ’T is a quick answered prayer 

That brings thee here. 


ioo The Death of fisby 

Harrington. I could not bide ashore. 

And see you lonely fare upon your quest : 

I come as your good servant, without sword ; 

I ’ve left the knight behind. 

Essex [ aside ]. I had forgot. 

[To Harrington.] Nay, lad, I too am swordless. 
We shall go 

As Alfred went unto the foeman’s hold 
To sing his way to saving. ’T was a dream. 

An ugly dream, that showed another way 
That to perdition led. It is forgot 
As yon isle fades away. When it goes down 
To the last peak we’ll be ourselves again, 

One in leal purpose to unlift our land. — 

Oh, this untainted air, with breath of isles 
That ne’er have known man’s treason, brings dear 
peace. 

Could we but fare forever in its arms 
With task alone to sweep foul wrongs away, 

That were true knighthood’s life. 

Har. Yea, but we go 

On other quest, whereto we are not bid, 

And we shall hear it said, * How came they 
hence ? 

What do they here ? ’ and must make answer good. 
My lord, I am a dull wit, yet need know 


IOI 


The Death of Essex 
The passport of this action : else will fail 
To serve you in your peril. 

Essex. Nay, dear boy, 

God tends our perils if we hark His will 
And do His work. We go mayhap to death 
For what is past it. Our good warrant is 
We know the end He wills. There is one law 
Writ in men’s books, another writ in sky 
For all His men to read. 

Har. This sky-writ law 

Is read not by the might that rules this realm ; 

It will not weigh. 

Essex. ’T is written for our hearts. 

To stay them in sore trial. For the rest. 

We claim the right of all who bear grave trusts 
To sovereign’s action by the duty given 
Into their hands. What faithful soldier stays 
To see the battle wrecked because he ’s bid 
By some far master to stand idly by ? 

His duty is to dare, so be to death 
With which hard judgment pays on his mischance. 
Har. Oh my dear lord, we ’ll find this law ’s 
too high 

For earth regarding eyes. 

Essex. So be it, then; 

The faithful answer is ‘ God’s will be done 


102 The Death of Essex 

Upon His instruments e’en as He will.’ 

If in His work we hear the questioning 
Of every sinful knave, and spend our wit 
In reckoning with their lack, we ’ll never win 
Nor save His realm, but die in some foul ditch. 

Har. And yet, my master, we must to our liege 
Give safe account of this. 

Essex. Trust her to see : 

She is at heart a king. She will not stay 
On her command against decree of fate 
That sends us for her safety to her side. 

Make end of doubts ! We go into the dark 
And yet our trusting hearts shall find the day. 

Of those base knaves we will make no account 
Save for the stroke that ends them. \Strides away . 
Har. [alone]. Alas! ’t is but another vagrant 
dream. 

Where fancy sails upon a golden cloud 
To fall at waking. 

End of Act Third . 


ACT IV 

SCENE I 


Shore at Beaumaris. 

Knot of Old Soldiers look into the mist . 
First Soldier. 

HE sea hath sent a lot of wreck ashore, 
And yet no word or hail hath come 
from him. 

Second Soldier. Look, man, there 
hies a boat from off yon ship 
That anchored at the dawn. The sailors pull 
As if the devil chased them. Canst thou tell 
Who stands at tiller and shouts on the crew 
As if he led a charge ? 

ist Soldier. They all come swift 

Who hie them back. They ’re slow enough to fare 
Into that devil's hold. 

2D Soldier. Hark to his shout ! 

How like a shot it comes. ’T would send a man 
A mile without his head and twitch his legs 
When he ’d been dead a day. 



104. The Death of Essex 

ist Soldier. Ay, sure ’t is he 

Who led us on at Cadiz. Where ’s the ships 
That bring his army here ? 

2D Soldier. They’re in the mist: 

He needs a league’s space twixt him and his line. 
Room for his wits to dance. They ’ll here anon ; 
We’ll stay him till they come. He’ll stay himself 
Alone against a host. [Essex lands. 

Essex [to Harrington]. Here stand we once 
again on hopeful earth 

With straight way on through England’s glorious 
fields 

To meet our England’s need. [Shouts of old soldiers . 
ist Soldier. Hail, Captain, hail! Here be the 
men you ’d have 

Of your own making. Twenty score are ranked 
With brave old arms we tempered in the flame 
You blew in Spain. We would not have them 
rust 

Or give our bones to churchyards while you need 
True men beside you to set right this realm. 

We’ll be your van so that you may not wait 
The coming of the laggards. 

Essex. My true men, 

Your welcome gives me heart. In your brave eyes 
I see our England safe, see beacon fires 


The Death of Essex 105 
To summons all her host. [To ist Soldier.] Thou 
art the man 

Who there bestrode his leader when he fell 
To fend him from a throng. [To another.] Thou 
wert by me 

When we forced Cadiz’ gate. [To another.] Ho, 
there ’s the man 

Who made me second on the Spaniard’s deck 
We boarded in the bay. So with ye all. 

Your faces are dear pictures where I read 
The story of brave deeds that we have done 
As brothers of this land, that it might be 
Fit home for Englishmen. 

ist Soldier. Now, Captain, call 

Your men about ye ; they will ask no more 
Than by your side to die, where’er you bid, 
Knowing you are true soldier of our Queen, 
Fighting to give her strength once more to be 
Our mighty sovereign. 

Essex. Ay, we bide the time ; 

It is not yet. I go alone to her. — 

Ye ’ll hear the call when stout hearts have their day 
To down the foes that vex her. Fare ye well ; 
And though I go alone, ’t is with a host 
To face what comes and right our England’s 
wrong. [Essex rides away with followers. 


I , , .ft 


/* /' V \ 



106 


The Death of Essex 


ist Soldier. Oh, but he ’s brave to go that path 
alone 

Like Samson to the temple of his foes. 

2D Soldier. It is his way, but once too often 
trod ; 

He ’ll need us sore before he wins the gate. 

ist Soldier. So he bides true to her, we will 
be there 

To match them in his peril when it comes. 


End of Scene . 


SCENE II 


Whitehall. Early morning . 

Elizabeth with Tirewomen. 

Tirewoman. My Queen is weary ere the day ’s 
begun. 

Elizabeth. Ay, dame, my night was not for 
blessed sleep, 

But for hard moiling that hath left me worn 
As by long travail in a pitiless storm. — 

Hear’st thou that wind that roareth from the west ? 

Woman. My Queen, it raves to shake this 
firmset house. 

Eliz. So like a fiend all night it shook the world, 
Yet in it I went on to help, to save. 


The Death of Essex 107 
I saw not where ; but only I should haste 
For all my weariness that sorer was 
Because I knew not what the dreary quest. — 
There is some ill abroad. 

Woman. Nay, my dear liege, 

It was a pixie sat upon your breast, 

Who scuttled when you woke ; that brings no ill : 
They love their mischief, but they do no harm 
To decent folk. 

Eliz. Go to, thou know’st not how 

This world is but a curtain that doth hide 
From common eyes the maze that lies behind, 
Where hosts of good and evil ever toil 
To win the souls of men. To pierce that veil 
And help or harm they through night’s tangles creep 
And wake us to their office in our dreams, — 

The good to warn, the ill to lead away 
Our souls into the pit. [Uproar in courtyard .] Here 
bursts new storm, 

Blowing our men about. Look forth and see 
What is its shape. 

Woman. A sore spent rider ’s there 

With a lean following of draggled men. 

Your servants are amazed and wildly shout; 

Some hail his coming, others grasp their arms; 

He sees them not, but enters like the wind ; 


108 The Death of Essex 

His weary fellows drop as they would die 
On the wet courtyard stones. 

Eliz. [aside]. ’T was a hard ride ; 

I know how hard, for with its ghost I ’m spent. 
Woman. Shall I go forth and find who ’t is 
that comes 

Blown to us by the wind. 

Eliz. Nay, we know well ; 

One only rideth horsed on such a gale. 

[Uproar in ante-room . Attendants try to 
restrain intruder . Enter Essex, who 
kneels at Elizabeth’s feet . 

Essex ! My Essex ! Art thou from the dead ? 
Essex. Yea, mistress, from beside my grave I 
come 

To seek thy healing touch, a hand to save 
This shadow of my life from utter death 
That dwells with shame. 

Eliz. Alas ! how wan and old ! 

Thy hair is white, and the dear face that went 
With youth still on it is now serried deep 
In ugly channels where the streams of time 
Have worn rude ways. Yet in thine eyes I see 
The changeless sky and know that Essex lives. 
Thank God for that ! 

Essex. 


What lives and what is dead 


The Death of Essex 109 
Hath lived and died, dear mistress, for thy sake. 
This age was paid for thine eternal youth ; 

The sorry remnant is to be the price 
Of thy dear safety ’gainst assailing foes 
That compass thee about. 

Eliz. Nay, Essex, rest : 

This moment hath no battle, nor hast thou. 

Who dead would broil a churchyard, strength for it. 
Rest till the noon, then bring us all thou canst 
Of what thou wert of old to deck what is. 

Thus with farewell for welcome, fare thee well. 
[To Chamberlain.] See him attended as we ’d 
have a prince : 

He now is our dear cousin who hath come 

Far way and perilous to greet us here 

And seek our roof tree’s shelter. [Exit Essex. 

Woman. How he came, — 

Announced in manner of a thunderbolt 
That asks no usher ! 

Another Woman. He ’s like a postman just 
crawled from a ditch, 

All mud from head to foot. 

Eliz. Yea, ’t is Essex. 

So will he burst unto the judgment seat 
With all his stains upon him. He’sa man, 

What of him is not herald from the sky 


iio The Death of Essex 

With flaming portent. Oh, what is to be 
Ere this strange tale is ended ? 

End of Scene . 

SCENE III 

Council Room at Whitehall. 

Queen’s Councillors , Cecil, Cobham, Ralegh, etc . 
Enter Lord Grey. 

Cecil. Alas, my lord, you ’re white of face : 
what is ’t? 

Grey. Essex hath come. 

Cecil. Nay, that ’s impossible : 

’T is but an hour gone a courier swift 
Brought word that he was ill, in mind distraught. 
In body sorely spent. 

Cobham. Mayhap his wraith 

Comes here to haunt us. Saw you it by night ? 
Grey. At dawn I rode from Lambeth. In the 
storm 

I heard the shout of folk who farer hailed 
With eager clamour. On it came until 
There swept from out the wood a man who rode 
With near goal in his eyes. To my salute 
He answered with a look so keen and strong 


Ill 


The Death of Essex 
And promising of strokes, that be he ghost 
We’ll need to arm us as for stoutest flesh. 

I followed hard into the roar that sprang 
As if all knew well what his horsehoofs told, 

For at their beat they shouted, ‘ Essex comes !* 
And thanked the Lord for that. 

Cecil. Ay, he is here. 

There ’s much of shouting in our London streets 
As our folk clamour love or their disdain 
For this or that of deeds or men that do : 

But when ye hear this roar that shakes the 
sky, 

That hath in it wild music for the heart. 

Ye know it is their Essex whom they hail. 

He ’s with the Queen. The manner of it tells 
It is his living self. Thus should it be 
For our best safety. Here he may be fenced 
With customed courtesy against himself, 

Worst of his foes. 

Ralegh. You count not with the folk 

Who rage for him to verge of mutiny. 

Let him but find old favour in her eyes 
And all the land goes with him. 

Cecil. There we count 

For fullest surety. To all English folk 
He is beloved brother, errant, brave. 


I I 2 


N '- v '''\V-^ '■ } , v: 

The Death of Essex 
Who to the common of their daily lives 
Brings breath of chivalry, mirror of deeds 
Done in an airy realm by one who comes 
On wings as good Saint George, to right earth’s 
ills. 

They ’ll shout until they sleep, and then they ’ll 
wake 

To hear the mother’s chiding and to go 
Their stedfast English way. 

Ralegh. While we dispute. 

He has her ear and heart and will them turn 
To serve his plans against us. Let us go 
And break upon them with the proofs that show 
He’s in his heart a traitor. 

Cecil. That we’ll not: 

Show her a throng that hunt him and the chase 
Will turn in flash upon your hungry pack. 

With her for master of his starved hounds 
They ’ll have you by the throat in one fair field 
And then farewell Sir Walt. We will bide here 
Until the kinsman’s day is by and she 
Turns from the woman’s part to that of queen. 
'Enter Chamberlain. 

Chamberlain. My lords, her majesty bids ye 
appear 

At council board the morrow. 


The Death of Essex 113 

Cecil. So ’t is plain 

She sees there ’s work to do. The worst is by ; 
Our part is to be still, — no more of this 
Than if some other hied him back to court ; 

So is this burthen his alone to bear. 

We 'll forth and stay all rumours with the Word 
That this swift coming is but one more deed 
To show his errant mind. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE IV 

Essex’s Room in Palace. 

Essex, Harrington. 

Harrington. How is it with my lord ? 

Essex. Harry, ’t is peace 

Such as I lost and never hoped to find 
Again in this hard world. My trial ’s by. 

For from this fortress I may dare a host 
And make our safety sure. 

Har. Of her command ? 

Essex. No word of that ; she was my gracious 
Queen 

With sorrow for what ’s been. Yea, she is true 
As ever king to servant with the truth 
That shapes a crown. 






/■ 







114 


Har. 


The Death of Essex 

What of the days to come ? 


Essex. To me no morrow waits on such a day, 
For , t is assurance of all days to come 
To know that yesterday is with the dead 
And well forgotten. It is still the morn ; 

At noon we go to her to tend the court 
And see where lies the land. [Wearily.] It all seems 
strange : 

The court where as a boy this ancient dwelt 
Is utter else than then ; the servitors, 

Though they look old in service, are unknown 
Unto mine eyes, though they all greet me well. 
What means this change ? 

Har. ’T is weariness, my lord. 

You’ve rode and been hard ridden since the day 
This place was custom to you. May God send 
That it yield peace unto your weary soul. 


End of Scene . 


SCENE V 

Council Chamber. 

Queen, Cecil, Ralegh, and others . 


Elizabeth. We wait our cousin here. 


Cecil. 

This early morn. 


T is told he came 


The Death of Essex 115 

Eliz. What knew you of this deed ? 

Cecil. That he is here, — no more, my liege; 
our post 

Has surely found his port in deepest sea 
That my lord doth thus herald his remove. 

Eliz. He is a wondrous comer. Never earth 
Has known such spurning as our Essex gives 
When he’s aflame. You mind how once he rode 
From Plymouth here to greet us. ’T was a feat 
More than Leander’s o’er the Hellespont. — 

Ah, those brave days ! 

Cecil. But that was in his youth; 

’T is said he now is ill and sorely aged, 

Unlike his sometime self. 

Eliz. Ay, he ’s waxed old 

And piteous worn ; but in his eye is fire 
As of some ancient altar that no storm 
Could dim until the faith that lit it died, 

And when you look upon him soon you see 
Nought but that light. 

Cecil. You bade me here, my liege? 

Eliz. Ay, that you see the greeting that we 
give 

To our beloved kinsman who hath claimed 
The shelter of our roof. 

Cecil. 


And this is all ? 


2 , .* \ y J 

116 The Death of Essex 

Eliz. Know on the morrow we a council hold 
To question our throne’s servant. 

Cecil. Ay, my liege ; 

We’ll see your courtesy and duty done 
Alike right royally. 

Eliz. Would that we saw 

Unto the end of this. Ne’er in our days 
Have we so longed to read what fate hath writ 
Upon the unturned page. 

Cecil. Oh my dear liege, 

Our mole sight hinders not, but helps our minds 
To worthy doing. If we saw to end, 

We should but watch the inevitable 
To see our comrades fall, with folded hands 
And hearts as cold as fate. 

- Enter Essex. 

Eliz. Welcome, our cousin Essex. That we gave 
Upon thy hurried coming was too brief 
To tell the measure of the love that springs 
At sight of thee. Thou art our kinsman true. 

The brightest star that shines to us of all 
That noble constellation. Thou art here 
That, be or come what may, thou shalt well know 
How ever kindred is our heart to thine. 

Essex. My Queen ! 

If aught could bind me faster to my faith 


-I. 


ii 7 


The Death of Essex 
Or make me readier for it to die, 

’T would be that in the past our blood once ran 
To the same heart. Yea, mistress, when I ’ve stood 
Where men might blanch and turn and know of fear 
As all men know it, I have found my strength 
In thought that you’d be sharer of my shame 
If it came on me. 

Eliz. Oh our noble Essex, 

Who else in all this world can do such deeds 
Or say them so to fit a woman’s ear ? 

But here is music that will bring us back 
To lighter joys that better fit this time. 

Enter Musicians. 

[Sings.] Thou wert the sunderer of love , 0 sea, 
The sealed garner of fair days , O sea , 

With dark gate closed forever to our eyes 
And night to wrap our weary souls , 0 sea. 

But now thou art our treasury , O sea , 

With gate that sends us happiness , fair sea , 

All morning' s glory and all eve's delight ; 

Thou art the treasury of God , O sea. 

Wait with thine open port for us , O sea , 

Till we to thine eternal win , 0 sea , 

With all of life in harvest of our love ; 

Wait with thy sheltering arms , O faithful sea. 


1 1 8 The Death of Essex 
Essex [sings.] The jisherboy sings in the morning 
As forth he saileth away , 

And his song dies out 

In the wild wave's shout 

And their tramp on the shores of the bay . 

The fisher boy sings in the even 

As back he hies to the shore 

The song of his morn, the song of his noon , 

The song of his night , to the olden tune 
Of love forevermore . 

His face looks white from the tangle 
And his open lips are still, 

But forever the wave 
Chaunts on by his grave 
There at the foot of the hill . 

How love dies not at life's even 
But its song is the herald of day, 

Though the maiden weeps 
Where her lover sleeps 
There by the shore of the bay . 

Cobham. See how he prospers ; he hath all her 
heart. 

Cecil. ’T is no new conquest. 


The Death of Essex 119 

Cobham. She hath made a fete 

To give him honour. 

Cecil. Ay, the feast is fair. 

Cobham. She is all ears to him. 

Cecil. So am I, for that ; 

I ’d stay the night out but to hear him swing 
His splendid phrase that compasses the world 
And ties all hearts to his. 

Cobham. Then I am lost. 

Cecil \aside \ . If he were saved, we’d spare our 
tears for that. 

[To Cobham.] Lost where your wits should be. 
Do you not hear 

The note of sorrow that sounds in her joy ? 

This is the woman’s welcome ; other comes 
In the hard task she ever does so well. — 

The morrow will bring that. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE VI 

Council Chamber at End of Fete . 
Elizabeth, Essex. 

Essex. My liege stays far from me. 
Elizabeth. Nay, very near, — 

Never so near for all of other days. 


120 The Death of Essex 

Essex. Never so far for all this day has given 
To set against long night. We are apart 
By all the deeps that eager foes can delve 
’Twixt long time friends. I see them here, 
Straining like hounds against a slender leash 
To leap upon me. • 

Eliz. What my Essex sees 

Is what his life hath shaped. His mastering will 
Hath strode right on, ne’er recking if it trod 
Upon the hearts of those who should be friends 
To all his noble aims. Many there be 
Who ’d willing smite him to a hapless end : 

But all the host of true men, men who shape 
The doings of this realm, plot but to save 
In him its promise and to bring it safe 
To the eternal harvest. 

Essex. Let us forth 

Straightway to purge this kingdom of its woes, 
To rank its good against its teeming ill, 

And do the Lord’s work in the way He bids. 

I ’m here to die for that, and my last breath 
Will know forgotten joy if I may hail 
My sovereign and this realm in peace with God. 

Eliz. Oh Essex, thou art still in heart a king, 
Mastering a realm of fancy, knowing not 
How all this fabric of a state is wove 


I 2 I 


The Death of Essex 

With warp of good and woof of evil deeds. 

Rend them apart and it will fall away, 

Leaving but shreds to shelter naked folk. 

Still like a Hotspur ready e’er to smite, 

So hurls thy life away. 

Essex. So should it go, — 

Not in tame counterplot ’gainst villain plans, 

But in the stroke that ends them. Shall I bide 
The remnant of my days to see men thrive 
And fatten on your favour, who would rend 
You and this state to fill their greedy maws? 

Eliz. Thy Queen thus bides since ’fore she had 
to hear 

Thy roared contention ’gainst this grim old world ; 
She knows its bitter lessons. — Essex, learn to live 
As one among thy fellows ; trusting men 
For what the Lord hath made them. 

Essex. Nay, my liege, 

This is no counsel from my sovereign’s heart, 

But echo of their speech. 

Eliz. All there is truth ; 

’T is yet the woman speaks. Oh Essex, hear 
Before her voice must still. 

Essex. Set me command 

And I shall bend my heart until it break 
To do my mistress’ will. 


122 The Death of Essex 
Eliz. Be thou thyself. 

Thy better self, — that bound thee to my soul 
In the brave days made braver by thy deeds, — 
Gallant yet humble, quick to know thy fault, 

But slow to find thy neighbour’s. So we may 
back 

Upon the rugged way until we dwell 
Once more in Eden though its summer ’s by. 

Thus hath the woman spoken. Fare thee well. 

[Essex departs towards main door of audi- 
ence room . 

My lord, your way lies there. 

[ Pointing to another door , which opens , dis- 
closing guards who surround Essex. 
Essex. I ’ll go, my liege, — 

With help of God, — upon that rugged way. 

[Elizabeth stands silently looking away . 
Lady in Waiting [to Elizabeth]. My Queen 
doth see afar. 

Eliz. Ay, far away 

To strong straightforward men, so feal to do 
Their tasks unsparing as God’s angels sent 
Swift from His throne to smite or bless this world 
With deeds unreckoned save they fit His will, — 
Deeds shaped from night yet with the grace of 
day 


123 


The Death of Essex 
When day sends finish to its fairest work. 

We dream that such might serve the thrones of 
earth 

As they do that on high. 

End of Scene. 


SCENE VII 

Hall of Council. 

Councillors ; Essex, standing at foot of table . 
President. My lords and gentlemen, ye are to 
hear 

Grave charges ’gainst a subject of our throne : 

He stands before ye for the inquest due, 

To know the accusations, and to make 
The answer that he may. 

Prosecutor. Robert Devereux, 

Earl Essex of this realm, ’t is charged that you 
Against our Queen’s command have made a 
truce 

With the arch traitor you were sent to smite. 
What say you to this charge ? 

Essex. That it is true : 

I led my force against him but to find 
Assault mere madness, for the might I brought 
Was scarce his third ; his dispositions such 


124 The Death of Essex 

As meant but idle slaughter of my men. 

I made a truce. It is the soldier’s part 
To win what fate may yield. My lords, ye 
know. 

Some by your very eyes, and all full well, 

How apt this servant of our liege to shrink 
Before the foe that fronts him. I may stand 
In this upon your knowing. 

Pros. It is charged 

That you alone with Tyrone long conferred 
Upon some secret matter, none near by 
To vouch for what there passed. 

Essex. Thereto, my lords, 

I make no answer, leaving ye to judge 
Whether the trusted servant of this throne 
Must mind him of such dangers, keep good watch 
Lest he be charged with treason. 

Lord Gray. Give that o’er ; 

If faith halts at such doubt, it is no faith. 

Ay, give that o’er. [ Lords assent . 

Pres. In fine, you ’re charged 

With base desertion of the trust you held. 

Setting at nought your sovereign’s strict command 
That you should wait her pleasure for return. 

To seek her court unbidden. 

Essex. 


Good my lords, 


“5 


The Death of Essex 
Here is the corner-stone of my offence 
Where I must stand or fall. Yea, I am here 
Against commands to stay, reiterate 
So plain their meaning was burnt in my soul. 

Yet I dare set against them the true faith 
The soldier owes to duty that he sees 
As none from far can see it, the command 
Upon his heart to save the cause he serves, 
Howe’er he may offend. Judgment was due 
Upon those orders. — I have been the judge 
And must abide my deed. 

Pros. Is this then all 

Y ou set against this charge ? 

Essex. Yea, my lords, all 

Save what I need not say, — save what ye know 
Of the * sore trials that have come to me 
Upon that weary service. 

Pres. You are here 

To make your plea to judges who allow 
Nothing to rumour, who are here to weigh 
What cometh to this court. 

Essex. Oh then, my lords, 

I will forego defence that would array 
The ugly ghosts of evils that have passed 
By God’s appointment to their graves. I rest 
And ask for justice. 


126 


The Death of Essex 

Pres, [to Guards ]. The prisoner awaits 
The judgment of this council. 

[Essex and Guards withdraw . 
[T o Council .] What say ye, councillors, to his 
defence. 

Cecil. ’T was fit to hear him, yet we knew full 
well 

Each charge and answer, — that we dared not 
bring 

The weightiest to word, — What brought him 
here ? 

We are no wiser : we must wait and watch 
To find what lurks in this, for nought we know 
Of purposed wrong. Let him be held, yet free 
To shape his doing with his friends who wait, 

So he reveal his intent in some act 
That shall unmask his deftly hidden plans. 

Gray. He’s strangely gentle in his words, — 
his eyes 

Have told more than his tongue ; for while his 
speech 

Is shadowed with a sadness, they blaze out 
With flash that should wake thunder. Let us 
wait ; 

Betimes we ’ll know. 

Pres. May this then be our mind : 


127 


The Death of Essex 
That he shall bide in keeping till our liege 
May gauge his penance ? [< Councillors assent . 

[To Guards.] Bring the prisoner. [Essex approaches. 
[To Essex.] The sentence of this court is that you 
bide 

In keeping of the law until our liege 
May judge that you be faithful to her throne 
And fit for sometime trust. 

Essex. Ah, fit for trust ! 

My lords, I thank ye for these words ; ’t is well 
They ring in ears of men. Yea, I will prove — 
So God be with me — I am fit for that 
And have Him for my judge. [Exit with Guards. 
Pres, [to Cecil]. What means he there ? 

Cecil. Ask wiser men for that. Is it apt phrase, 
Or shadow of great purpose ? Who can tell ? 

Not he who ’s searched the world, but never ranged 
In the vast mystery that is himself. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE VIII 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Cecil. 

Elizabeth. What hath our council found ? 
Cecil. Nothings, my liege, — 


\ 


128 The Death of Essex 

Nothings that shadow substance. We must wait 
Until he stays revealed unto himself. 

Yea, he is to himself a mystery 
That fate alone commands. 

Eliz. How stood he forth ? 

Cecil. As artless gentleman, frank as the 
youth 

Who lit this realm with splendour in his dawn ; 
Ay, with a mastering courtesy that held 
His dearest griefs and trusted to the faith 
That is his birthright ; faith his deeds once 
proved 

Even to sorest foes. 

Eliz. Yea, it is well ; 

He ’s now upon the way where he may win 
Out of the pit he J s delved. 

Cecil. Ah, so he may. 

Eliz. Your voice hath worse than doubt; it 
tells despair 
Where we see hope. 

Cecil. Ay, more than doubt, my liege. 

This fate that rules us prints its sign on men : 
Some are as well wound clocks to sound their 
hours 

Until the final stroke. Such tend good fields 
With patient husbandry for harvests sure. 


The Death of Essex 129 
Some are held in the dark, awaiting time 
When the hard mistress sendeth them away 
To blaze across the sky to other night, 

Leaving a trail of wonder. 

Eliz. Like thy sire. 

Thou see’st our common doings in a light 
That mocks their substance. We will go right 
on. 

He is a noble child whom we have spoiled 
By lack of chastisement : we ’ll give it now. 

What says my council ? 

Cecil. That he shall be held 

To wait his sovereign’s judgment on his ways 
And win again her trust. 

Eliz. This shall be done. 

We ’ll smite him for correction, bend his will. 
Break him to harness from his wide roamed 
fields. 

Be he thy meteor we will bridle him 
And make him round an orbit with the spheres 
That know their stately task. So see him cared 
By some stern keeper who will second this 
Hard duty of his King, for such we ’ll be ; 

The woman’s part is done. 

End of Scene . 


130 The Death of Essex 

SCENE IX 

Prison at Essex’s House. 

Essex, ill, bedridden ; and Frances, Countess 
of Essex. 

Essex [waking ] . Ho, Frances, Frances, where 
art thou ? 

Countess of Essex. Here, love, 

Close by thy side. 

Essex. Oh, we were far apart, 

For all the reaches of yon ugly sea 
Lay ’twixt our hearts. 

Countess. Nay, Robert, ’t is a dream 

We dreamed anon. Now it is faded, gone, 

And we are here together. 

Essex. Ay, dear wife, 

Another dream of joy, and our next sleep 
Will send yet others to stuff out our lives 
With the vain emptiness that filleth man 
Until his bubble bursts. 

Countess. Peace ; thou art ill, 

Distempered by this bondage and the thoughts 
That chain thy mind unto a past that ’s dead. 

She grants to us enlargement ; we shall go 
Away, away, from all these haunted streets 
Where stalk but chiding ghosts. 


The Death of Essex 131 
Essex. Yea, let us go. 

I see the path that leadeth through the wood, 
Where every tree hath garnered heaven’s peace 
And sends His absolution to the soul 
That fareth in its shade. 

Countess. And on, yet on. 

Unto the ample welcome of our hold 

That ’s stood the sieges of stout arms and time. 

We’ll shut its gate and there forget all foes; 

Its walls shall answer make, whoe’er assails. 

Essex. Haste, let us there. 

Countess. Wait but until thy strength 

Will match the journey. 

Essex. Nay, but I am strong ; [Rises. 

That thought hath cast my burthens in the deep. 
Make ready now. 

Enter Harrington. 

Harrington. Greetings, my lord, — good 
news. 

Essex. We have it, Harry, yet ’t is good to 
read 

Our favour ’s writ upon the face of friend : 

That doubles joy to heart. See, we prepare 
For a far journey, though its goal be near ; 

For it doth part us from this weary world. 

We fare this day to Hertford, if our liege 


132 The Death of Essex 

Will grant us audience to give our thanks 
And make fit parting. 

Har. Yet, my lord, you know 

The order stays that you shall not to court. 

But elsewhere at your will. 

Essex \musing \ . Still is it shame : 

For all the seeming that this pardon gives, 

She would me brand as felon. 

Countess. Nay, my love ; 

What matters it that we thus creep away ? 

Why wouldst thou look upon her face again 
Who hast sent nought but darkness to thy soul ? 

Essex. Matters, my dame ? It matters to a man 
Who hath his pardon tossed him as a bone 
To some poor cur who durst not come too near. 
Har. My lord, you told me that she bade you 
win 

Back on hard ways unto the place you Ve lost : 
This way is rude, and yet it leadeth back. 

Essex. I go no further on it. 

Enter Servant. 

Servant. Sir Ferdinando would speak with my 
lord. 

Countess. Oh Robert, see him not. 

Essex. Why should I turn 

My best friend from my door ? 


The Death of Essex 133 
Countess. Nay, he is friend 

But to the Essex who’s left here behind 
When Robert fares with me unto his peace ; 

Else is he false. 

Essex. Nay, dame, he ’s very true, 

Proved of a lifetime ; and we cannot part 
Until we’ve buried Essex, said him peace 
With tears for what he might have been, had fate 
Smiled on his coming. Then will Robert go 
Skulking along the hedgerows to his hold. 

Enter Gorges. 

Gorges. Hail, Essex ! Thou art free to serve 
thyself 

And thy true friends. 

Essex. Ay, Gorges, free as air 

That ’s pent in jail ; yea, we are now enlarged 
Into a greater prison. 

Har. Oh my lord, 

’T is but a corner of this world is barred ; 

Its wideness is all free. 

Essex. What doth it help 

If every port is open while the gate 
Of honour stays fast sealed ? 

Gorges. Essex ’s himself! 

Would that his friends and foes could hear that cry 
To ring the world around. 


134 The Death of Essex 
Essex. Gorges, he ’s dead. 

You come to bury Essex and to see 
His wraith go forth into the wilderness ; 

Make haste the funeral, ’t is slender rites 
This world doth owe that pauper. 

Gorges. Ah, Essex, 

We know now what it meant, that yesternight 
The church bells tolled and all thy London wept. 
Away the sorrow ran from hill to hill 
Until all England knelt it down to pray 
That God would spare. Save from Sir Walter’s 
house 

There came the roar of feasting and the yelp 
Of all the pack that knew their quarry down 
And leapt to rend him. 

Essex. Gorges, what is this ? 

Gorges. It is that England knew her Essex 
dead. 

It is that all our streets are thronged with men. 
With choked hearts and hands that clutched at arms 
That now are purposeless. Ay, they must wait 
Mayhap a hundred years and watch the wolves 
That now devour them, till they hail the man 
Who ’ll live for them, who seeketh not his grave 
When he was pledged to lead them. Go your way. 
You’ll lack not obsequies: all England weeps 


The Death of Essex 135 

Beside the grave you seek, and marvels how 
The Lord could cheat their hope. 

Essex. Oh, ’t is most strange : 

A moment gone I lay upon the field, 

Bleeding to death alone, and now the blast 
Of noble trumpets lifts me whole and strong 
With hosts of God beside me. So they gloat 
Over the corse of Essex, think him dead ? 

Gorges. Ay, my brave lord, the garments are 
all shared 

That once so fairly clothed him, and they rage 
About the throne to drag down all his friends. 

The dotard sovereign who should guard our realm 
From this vile spoiling lacks the strength to stay 
Her faithful purposes, and so weeps on 
In sorrow impotent amid the wreck, 

As master of good ship that ’s cast away 
Because the pilot lacked, sees hungry waves 
Devour his lifetime gains. 

Essex. Enough, enough ; 

Thou art my saviour and that idle grave 
Where falsehood fain would cast me is filled up 
By noble duty. — Shout their Essex lives 
To lead them to their safety. Cry to her 
That we will with our good swords to her side 
And guard her age from shame. 


136 The Death of Essex 

Countess. Alas, my love, 

Thou art once more away beyond the sea. 

Lost, lost, forever lost ! 

Essex. Nay, we ’re near port ; 

They wait us on the strand, and the fierce storm 
That was our peril now is goodly wind 
Sweeping our ship to haven. Hie thee home 
And wait thy lover’s coming. ’T will be soon. 
For now ’t is straightway to our destined goal 
With baffling shoals all by. \Bends over her . 

Countess. Yea, I will wait 

For thy last coming, send what light I may 
Into the darkness of the lingering night. 

Ah, Robert, ’t is the end ; that peace will come 
When we lie there together by the sea. 

[Essex leads her to door and embraces her in 
silence . She goes out with Harrington. 
Gorges \aside\. I ’ve won my wager that he ’d 
snap the hook 

As I would bait it. Oh, he ’s quick to turn : 

I found a sorry caitiff ; here ’s a king 
With royal speech and mien of conqueror. 

If hap we win there, he will have to learn 
Who are his masters ; if we fail, his head 
Is high enough to hide us. 

Essex. 


Ho, Gorges ! 


The Death of Essex 137 


Gorges. Here, my liege. 
Essex. 

Gorges. 


Nay, not that. 

Oh my Essex, 


Our loyal hearts cannot deny in speech 
Their fond allegiance to the chief who saves 
This realm from ruin. 


Essex. 


Yet ’t is but begun ; 


The doing is before us. — Haste to bring 
Our trusted friends together, so we have 
Ere night the time to shape the morrow’s plans. 
See that we lack not for some faithful men 
From out the city who can lead its hosts 
Straight to our side. For it must be their deed : 
Our foes have numbers and are desperate, 

And London’s trainbands must afford our line. 
See to that. Gorges. 

Gorges. Ay, my lord, they wait 

But for this summons ; at the eve they ’ll be 
By thousands at thy gate. 

Essex. And we have arms ? 

Gorges. Ay, all is ready, to the arch’s top 
Most firmly built. My lord doth make the key, 
And so the bridge o’er which our folk shall pass 
Into the land of promise. 

Essex. Tell the Queen 

By trusty messenger her servants come 


138 The Death of Essex 

To lay their hearts and swords down at her feet, 
And lift them at her summons. If they break 
Unto her presence rudely, ’t is that arms 
Alone can bring her safety. 

Gorges. Ay, my lord, 

She knows that well and in her mind she waits 
The brave deliverance that you bring to her. 

It shall be told again. 

Essex. We ’ll rest awhile, 

For we would ponder on the morrow’s plans ; 

We ’ll meet this eve, with order for each deed 
So it be swiftly done. [Essex withdraws . 

Gorges [alone]. This is mere vapouring; he 
cannot win. 

We reckoned on his army; he is here 
With wits that rattle like the shaken dice 
Before he makes the throw. He searcheth 
nought, 

But taketh all as certain that words shape 
Or his mad fancy paints. — There comes a gale 
For a stout windward anchor, or my ship 
May drag with his to rocks. Ay, that I ’ll do : 
Well twisted words may have a cable’s strength 
That stays or slips as serves this mariner. 

End of Scene . 


The Death of Essex 


1 39 


SCENE X 

Cecil’s House. 

Cecil alone. 

Cecil. This is a weary waiting for the end ; 
Last midnight he was near the agony, 

His spirit broken and his hard drawn breath 
Fighting the world that weighed it. Were he 
man. 

We’d strike him from our tablets, let him lie 
In safety by his grave. But such is he 
That till he ’s earthed, till his wild soul ’s away 
Where God doth summon it for purpose vast, 

We ’ll reckon on its flame. When it is forth 
’T will march like Caesar’s spectre to far fields. 
Enter Servant. 

Servant. Sir Ferdinando waits. 

Cecil [aside\. ’T is a good name, 

Smacking of useful treason. [To Servant.] Bring 
him in. 

[Alone He comes to sell his master or to buy 
A rope wherewith to hang. 

Enter Gorges. 

So thou art here ? 
What is the traffic thou wouldst have with me ? 
Speak, I have much to do. 


140 The Death of Essex 
Sir Ferdinando. Yea, my dear lord. 

And I have much for you in a fair trade. 

Cecil. Open thy pack and I will scan thy 
wares ; 

All know them curious. 

Sir Ferd. My lord, you know 

I am a friend of Essex, — knit to him 
By blood we ’ve shed together, closer yet 
By love he quickens in the hearts of men 
Who stay beside him. 

Cecil. Ay, that is well said ; 

Indeed thou bringest jewels. 

Sir Ferd. But, my lord, 

I hold true faith to throne. I ’ve waited long 
And laboured well to save him and to steer 
His beaten ship to safety. Yesterday 
He was near to the peace we prayed for him 
To ease his pain; this morn he rose again. 

And would straight forth into the wilderness 
To dream away the remnant of his days; 

This noon he blazes up, and sends his call 
To all his knights and unto London’s men, 

To join him at his house at set of sun. 

I can do nought to rein him, so have come 
To lay my duty Tore you. 

Cecil. 


I scarce thought 


The Death of Essex 141 
To find fair duty in thy dirty pack. 

But here it is. Gorges, we’ll trade, — the price? 
Sir Ferd. Safety, my lord, and what should be 
to boot. 

For what I ’ve brought and I will after bring 
At risk of my dear neck. 

Cecil. We ’ll save thy gorge : 

This thou may’st hold as earnest. What ’s his plan 
And force to shape it ? 

Sir Ferd. Nay, my lord, the plan 

Is but the wind that blows : he is resolved 
By quick straightforward rush to win the Queen. 
Your wit will tell what after. 

Cecil. Ay, that fits ; 

His nature ’s in it. 

Sir Ferd. He may have of men 

Mayhap ten score : some of the best ; the worst, 
Rapscallions who would sell him to make sure 
Their share of waited plunder. 

Cecil. That fits, too, 

What is well proved. 

Sir Ferd. They have of arms and stores 

Nothing but what they bear ; ’t is a surprise ; 

’T was like to win, because no rumour ’s sent 
By sound of preparations. So I came, 

Drawn by my loyalty unto our liege. 


142 The Death of Essex 

Cecil. Gorges, thy news is fresh ; thou art the 
first 

To huckster it. But ere the night is gone. 

Half will be here for trade; and yet the first 
Doth well deserve his worm. Now hie thee back 
To peek and tell. ’T is best to throw that pack 
In the next ditch for fear its wares should tempt 
To some new treason. Yet remember well 
Hap thy last lie may hang thee, — would we could 
For what has gone before. Away with thee. 

[Exit Gorges. 

Our souls at best are dirty, but they stink 
When they have bartered foulness with such 
knaves. 

[To Servant.] Go to my kennels ; find some 
mangy hound 

Who bites the hand that feeds him, and so learns 
To rend his master. Let me have him here, 

That I may study him and further see 
Into that knave. 

Servant. My lord, we have not such ; 

We let them bite but once. 

Cecil. Yea, would that we 

Had that quick way with all. Go, I ’ll have more 
Of hounds before this midnight. [Exit Servant. 
He ’ll need time 


The Death of Essex 143 
To shape his motley crew; not Tore the morn 
He ’ll try it with us, — try, and fail, and fall 
To his destruction. Now this tragedy 
Nears its last act, and so the waning lights 
Tell of the sorry end. I ’ll to the Queen. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE XI 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Ladies of Court. 

Elizabeth [ looking forth ] . There is strange quiet 
in the town ; men go 
In silent hurry. There a troop hies on, 

All looking straight before them as they bore 
A message in their hearts. Else all the streets 
Are wondrous still ; none cry their wares about, 

Or chaffer in their trades. \To Lady who enters .] 
What hast thou seen ? 

Lady. I come thence, madam ; all the mer- 
chants bar 

Their shops as for a Sabbath. 

Eliz. What say they ? 

Lady. Never a word, but each stares forth as he 
Saw some far spectre groping from the sky 
That menaced ill. 


144 The Death of Essex 
Eliz. [again looking fortfi\. Yea, there’s a thun- 
der cloud 

That hath a monstrous shape, — a mighty bier 
Whereon doth rest a noble warrior’s form 
Lit by the lightnings. ’T is like — 

Lady. Nay, my Queen, 

’T is but a wandering cloud and now it rolls 
In vacant mist away. 

Eliz. So strangely like — 

Bid Cecil here. 

Lady. Your majesty, he comes. 

Enter Cecil. 

Eliz. Oh Cecil, what is it, death ? 

Cecil. Nay, my liege; 

Would that it were such peace I bring. 

Eliz. What then? 

In God’s name what doth hang in yonder sky 
To fright my people ? 

Cecil. Our meteor is away 

Upon his errand. 

Eliz. Nay, no parables. 

Last night we saw him dead. Ay, face to face 
We saw him dead to all the calls of men. 

His soul clings to his body, for the bond 
That knits him to his dust is wondrous strong ; 

We prayed beside him, sought a parting word ; 
But he was dead to us. 


*45 


The Death of Essex 
Cecil. Oh my good liege, 

Leave measures when you gauge him. He is 
back 

In arms against us. We must do our best. 

Or morrow’s noon may see that ghost a king 
And you his useful vassal. 

Eliz. Yea, he’s dead. 

And this is some foul demon that usurps 
The form he left. What is this treason’s shape ? 
How shall we smite it ? 

Cecil. Know within his house 

He heads the discontent of all this realm ; 

He hath without we know not what of strength 
In city’s trainbands that he claims his own. 

There is his chance, and we need seek for ours. 
Mayhap my liege can move him. 

Eliz. Move him ! nay. 

The distant moon doth sway her captive seas 
And earth calls stars to her from far off vaults 
By secret might. Our airy souls have nought 
But love and fear to rule the other’s course : 

To those compulsions he is but a stone 
Fixed on a mountain of insensate greed, 
Changeless as Satan. 

Cecil. Yet he willing helps 

All who do lend him service. 


146 The Death of Essex 

Eliz. So does he. 

The master of all evil, if we bend 

Our pliant knees to him. Ay, there’s no smile 

Sweeter than his upon his courtiers. 

No tongue that speaks so fair for them, no gifts 

So open handed sent as his to slaves 

Who tend his state. He is a wondrous king, 

With skill to find his vassals ’neath a crown 
If hap they wear it. 

Cecil. Ah, but all love him 

From hut to palace; sure no man is foul 
Who so stirs hearts of men. 

Eliz. Tell me not that : 

I ’ve seen him wax from youth that was so fair 
A day in June could not the jewel match, 

Unto a manhood hard and reckoning, — 

Adonis changed to a Catiline 

With lust insatiate for a sovereign’s might, 

Yet with his pristine splendour shining through 
So that his presence claims the love of old 
By more than memory. Yet here is need 
Of action sure and swift. What hast thou done ? 

Cecil. Doubled our guards, set every man we 
trust 

Appointment where to die. 

Eliz. 


Is Spencer safe ? 


The Death of Essex 147 

Cecil. He lives, but makes no sign. You know 
full well 

What rankles there. 

Eliz. Yea, could John Spencer find 

This woman parted from her crown, he ’d do 
Hard vengeance on her. Send to him this word. 
That England’s sovereign trusts unto his town 
For ward in peril grave. ’T will quick his heart 
As ’t would of that brave man before he died 
And Satan claimed the body for his use. 

Bring me two men, — the foremost, they who hold 
The justice of this realm, our Knollys and Worces- 
ter. 

Bring them at once. 

Cecil. They ’re here, my liege, with all 

We may not doubt. 

Enter Worcester and Knollys. 

Eliz. My lords, true subjects, we ’ve a task 
for ye : 

Go to his house armed with our law alone, 

Enter ye there and bide. What ye shall do 
The time will tell. Mayhap ye go to death 
In that mad whirl, but if ye live or die 
Ye ’ll bear the law to shake their purposes. 

Your blood upon the stones will serve us well. 
Remember this, we pray ye : save those men. 


148 The Death of Essex 
If there be way to safety, from the deed 
That this does but foreshadow. Say we have 
Our England’s griefs upon our troubled heart 
And will redress them from our ancient throne. 

Be this your last word : here stays England’s King, 
Weary and old with service, fit to die 
If treason sends her death, unfit to live 
’Neath mastering hand. Go, this is fittest time 
For a swift silence. There is much to do. 

[Exit Justices. 

What else, good Cecil ? 

Cecil. Nay, my liege, you ’ve struck 

Straight at the heart of this. Those blows will tell. 
My breath comes now. 

Eliz. Send throughout all our land, 

And to our ships, an instant call to arms 
To meet the foe that leaps from o’er the sea 
If we be caged. If Knollys lives, let him 
Be master of the host ; if he should fall. 

Be you their captain. [Cecil dissents by gesture .] 
Ay, your outer shape 

Hath not of arms, but I know well your soul. 
Patient, contriving, swift. 

Cecil. My liege, you have 

Nearby fit master for your men, — a knight 
Proved on hard fields of land and sea. 


The Death of Essex 


149 
His name ? 


Eliz. 

Cecil. Your servant Ralegh. 

Eliz. ’Sdeath ! you set that knave 

At such a time before us ? If he ’s here 
Go cast him forth into some limbo vile 
Where he ’ll find nought but hunger. 

Cecil. Nay, my Queen, 

He ’s your ablest soldier. 

Eliz. Go to with wits : 

We front the best; shame on thine own that see 
Nought of our sovereign need. It is of men 
Whom God hath stopped of this insensate greed 
That hunts them on to treason. Hurl him forth. 
Or spare good men to watch him, else he ’ll turn 
To help this demon if it make swift way : 

He ’s shaped it for his purpose. None of him. 

See to these orders. Thy Queen’s part is done ; 

[, Sinking down. 

The woman claims her own. When this storm 
breaks 

Be thou beside me as thy father stood 
In day of nobler peril. Leave me now 
To shape this burthen so I may it bear. 

[ Exit Cecil ; Elizabeth kneels in prayer. 
End of Scene. 


The Death of Essex 


150 


SCENE XII 

Courtyard of Essex House. 

Essex, Gorges, and throng of Knights . 

Essex [A? Gorges], Where is the host you 
promised ? Scarce ten score, 

Half idle knaves, are here. 

Gorges \aside\. Where is the host 

We counted yours to bring from o’er the sea ? 

[To Essex.] My lord, a nipping wind doth blow 
without 

To numb right willing hearts. 

Essex. Where are the men 

We reckoned from the town ? 

Gorges. Our lord mayor 

Holds fast unto his men, sends them abed 
And sets their wives to guard them. He ’s your 
friend 

Save in your need : he sees that you will fall, 

And liketh well to stand. [Slips away. 

Essex. Oh Southampton, 

We ’re tricked. Behold that skulking knave who 
looks 

Behind like fleeing wolf. Nay, spare the stroke 
That sends him to his judgment. We ’ve scant time 


The Death of Essex 151 

With scanter force to try surprise. We’ll forth: 
God counts not numbers when He lends His might. 
Order your men. [Tumult at gate .] Ho, there ! 
who comes to us ? 

Good men of London who will dare for faith ? 
Southampton. Nay, Essex, they ’re but two ; 
they are unarmed : 

Our justices, Knollys and Worcester. 

What would they here ? 

Essex. They bring the help of God ; 

They are this kingdom’s stays ; with them by side 
We need not numbers, yea, we need not stir, 

But harvest victory here. 

South. [aside.] Oh Essex, Essex, 

This might comes not to stay thee, but to cast 
Thy house to earth. [Essex advances to Justices. 

Essex. Welcome, my lords, our host 

Is richer for your coming. Say ye bring 
Word of like welcome that our liege shall give 
When we kneel at her feet. We ’re forth for that. 
Chief Justice [to Essex]. My lord, we bring 
the law unto your hold 
To quell this riot ’gainst our England’s peace, 

[To a //.] With order from i'ts throne that ye laydown 
These hasty arms, depart unto your homes 
So we may know ye faithful. 


152 The Death of Essex 
Essex. Nay, my lord. 

We are her servants scorned, hunted, doomed, 

By those who hedge her throne. We seek her 
eyes, 

The way to her true heart, when at her feet 
We ’ll take her sentence. If it be to die, 

We ’ll trouble not the headsman. 

Chief Justice. Have ye wrongs? 

Declare your griefs to us ; they shall be heard, 
And judged by righteous law. 

Essex. Wrongs, good my lord ! 

What else have we for nurture these long years 
But shames and dangers ? Ay, what have we now 
To stay our hopes but the true subject’s right — 
Be he the meanest — to kneel ’fore the throne. 
Seeking the justice that is else denied ? 

Oh my dear lords, our suit goes past yon throne 
To that of Heaven, where true kings are crowned 
To serve His servants. Yea, their diadems, — 

Sign of His favour, — if their deeds be foul, 

Turn to mere baubles that men blow away 
With one stout breath. 

Lord Keeper [to Justice ]. That tells the 
traitorous heart; 

This better come to head. 

Chief Justice. Would that his own 


The Death of Essex 153 

Were all we’ll crop before this fancy’s down ; 

But it is rooted deep and many a shoot 
Will spring from this ill weed. [To Essex.] Once 
more, my lord, 

We bid you lay your arms and send us back 
Knowing your wrongs; you knowing our good faith 
To judge your rights. 

Knollys. Hear, Essex, we have been 

Comrades of old, as brothers known defeat 
And sent our shout to skies for victory ; 

But e’er with loyal hearts. Let us not fall 
From dear companionship that’s knit our lives 
To cross our swords before this ancient throne 
We’ve spent our lives to stay. 

Essex. Oh master dear, 

I learned with you the blade within its sheath 
Is but a bit of steel ; the drawn sword is the 
Lord’s, — 

A tongue to speak His will, a flame to scorch 
His mockers from the earth. See, ours are out ; 
They go not to their scabbards till they find 
What be His will in this. 

Lord Keeper. We must away. 

Essex. Nay, my dear lords, ye come too late to 
help ; 

Ye shall not go to hinder. Bide ye here 


154 The Death of Essex 

Until our task is done. [To Sir John Blount.] 
Keep them, Sir John, 

So they be safe. They yet may serve us well. 

[ Justices are led away. 
[To Rutland.] We’ll try the people; if they be 
not chained 

By strange enchantment they shall come to us. 
There is the chance. Forth quick upon our way ! 
They ’ve shorn us of our strength by their vile 
tongues ; 

See, half are skulking armless to the streets. 

[ They ride forth . 

End of Scene. 

SCENE XIII 

Street in London. 

Essex and Followers. Citizens. 

Essex [to Citizens ]. Hail, Englishmen! Here 
stand the men ye bade 
To do you service. See, they are beset 
By hosts that bear them down. If ye have hearts 
To hold your rights against a villain crew 
Who ’d sell your souls to Spain, stay with your 
arms 

The men who ’ve stood against your ancient foe, 


i55 


The Death of Essex 

And fight for England as your sires of old 
In the Armada days. 

[Throng is silent. Essex recognizes one . 
Stand forth, my man. 

You gave your right arm for our victory ; 

You ’ll be our banner. 

Hinde. We came to her cry 

Who now is silent. When we hear her call 
Our mouldering limbs will knit them once again 
To do her service. 

Essex. She is but their slave ; 

We go to free her who was once your Queen, 
Their puppet in this day. 

Hinde. Nay, Lord Essex, 

We know thee brave and generous and true, — 
Good helper in our need. Yet we know her 
From long before thy time. She still hath been 
The majesty above us all our days ; 

We ’ve ripened in her glory. We ’ll not blame 
The sun because the clouds may cross our sky. 

We wait the breaking. Bide thee here with us : 
So will we be thy soldiers at her call 
And never traitors. [Essex turns his horse . 

Bide here, my lord, for there waits traitor’s death ; 
Here friends will stay thee who will slay thee there, 
So soon her call doth send that woe to us. 

Spare us that curse. 


156 The Death of Essex 

Essex. Ay, spare your coward hides ! 

Creep to your holes and quaver while men fight 
For all that made this England to your sires. 

[Rides away . 

End of Scene . 

SCENE XIV 

Street at Ludgate. 

Essex, Bedford, and Troop of Followers. 

Essex [to Bedford]. There’s nothing here for 
us. How it is changed ! 

Our folk dwell here no more, but in their place 
White livered wretches who peek through their 
doors 

And shut them at a shout. Ay, we will back 
And face it as we may. 

Bedford. We ’ll have to fight 

If we would win us back ; for, see, her men 
Are ranked at Ludgate. 

Essex. We ’ll have at them then ; 

Our tongues serve not ; we ’ll find if our good 
swords 

Are turned to lead. Charge, men ! for England, 
charge ! 

[Essex leads charge . Melee of fghting . 
Essex’s men are beaten back. 


The Death of Essex 157 
Bedford. We are hard hit. 

Essex. Nay, Bedford, but we fly 

With scarce a stroke sent home to tell us men. 
Soldiers are beaten, and they lay them down 
With fair account of deeds. Yea, it is done; 
There is no health in us. 

Bedford. We must fight on. 

Win way to Thames ; thence we can gain your 
house. 

Mayhap this brush will serve to wake our shame. 
We dare not stay. 

Essex. Lead on ! I lead no more. 

Find me, good friend, a ditch where I may lie 
And hale me to it. I have not the life 
To seek good death. I hardly know it due 
For all the revelation that should show 
A coward to the way. 

Bedford. Nay, out with sword ! 

Smite hard and strength will come from out the 
stroke. 

You taught me that good lesson in brave days ; 

T will lead a ghost to glory. On, my lord, 

We’ll make this fit for men. \They charge. 

End of Scene. 


i 5 8 


The Death of Essex 


SCENE XV 

A Street. 

Garter King of Arms, Lord Burleigh, 
Spencer. 

Garter King. Sound trumpets ; send your cry 
through London town. 

Burleigh. Hear ye, oh men of London ! For 
our Queen 

We now proclaim as traitor to this realm 
Robert, Earl Essex, who would seize her throne. 
Give him nor heed nor succour, lest ye fall 
Into the grave he ’s delved where he shall lie. 

Sir John Spencer. Hear, loyal men of London ! 
Our Queen claims 

The faith our fathers gave her ; what her sires 
For unremembered years have found their stay 
’Gainst all their dangers ; what our hearts must give 
To keep their faith and hand it to our sons. 

Go to your houses, make ye ready there 
To heed her summons if she cry for you 
To die beside her gate. 

Voice. Ho, my mayor, 

We like it not, but will thy bidding do ; 

Thou art our master here and we thy men. 


The Death of Essex 159 

Garter King. Swift on ! This shall ring out 
in every street 

So that the echo drown the traitor’s cry 
Where’er he seeks their hearts. 

[They ride on . Sound of trumpets in distance. 
End of Scene. 

SCENE XVI 

Whitehall. 

Elizabeth, Cecil, and Guards. 
Elizabeth. They ’re at it, Cecil. 

Cecil. Ay, my liege. 

Eliz. Great God, 

You answer as if war here at my gate 
With shout and thunder, men upon the earth, 
Were but the clamour of a harvest home. 

Cecil. So ’t is, my liege ; we gather there good 
corn, — 

Fruit of our tillage, and eke divers tares 
That we have careless sown. 

Eliz. Go to with that : 

My house afire and yet you idly stand 
To prate your parables ? 

Cecil. 


Nay, nay, my Queen, 


160 The Death of Essex 

Your house is safe, — safe as the sky above. 

This is but fired stubble. 

Eliz. We have ears. — 

’Sdeath ! Hear that tumult like to rend my town 
And slay my people ! 

Enter Messenger . 

Whence cometh thy news ? 

Swift with the tale ! 

Messenger. ’T is a wild battle there ; 

The folk all join him ; he will soon be here, 

With raging thousands fast upon his heels. 

Eliz. Bring us our armour, that of Tilbury 
field, — 

’T is well kept for this end. Set us on horse 
And we will front them if they dare to face 
Shape of a king. If that foul demon comes 
Who slew the woman, he shall find the Queen 
With heart of steel to bar him from her throne. 

If need be we will die ; we dare not live 
A traitor’s vassal. 

Cecil. Knave, where saw’st thou this ? 

Mess. At Ludgate, sir. They set on Levison 
With a great charge. 

Cecil. How many came on him ? 

Mess. Sir, a mighty host. 

Cecil. And so they bore him down? 


The Death of Essex 161 

Mess. Nay, master, he stood firm. But now 
they ’ve fought 
Their way unto the Thames. 

Cecil. Set it afire? 

Mess. My lord they did and worse, — I know 
not what. 

Cecil. I ’ve mind to boil thee there. 

Mess. My lord, I am a baker and would bake 
When I must to the fire. [Exit Messenger. 

Cecil. All ’s well, my Queen ; 

He broke on Levison, who has five score. 

And now he flees by boat unto his hold. 

If London marched behind him, he had gone 
Unheeding o’er that bar, and had not sought 
To creep on through byways. 

Enter Yokel , distractedly . 

Eliz. Here comes another. 

Cecil. To show himself like fool. Who sent 
thee here ? 

Yokel. The Lord, my lord, — I mean — no 
lord sent me, 

But Him above said to me, 4 England’s lass 
Would stay yon battle,’ so I ran straight here 
To tell her of it. 

Eliz. Fool, thy folly’s wise 

Beside thy betters. What saw’st thou of fight ? 


1 62 The Death of Essex 

Yokel. What came before I 'scaped as fast as 
legs 

Could carry me away : some lay in the street, 
Their heels a-drubbing as they too would run 
But lacked the head to show them on the road ; 
An arm was sheared off and it lay on earth, 
Twitching the sword it held. Some too lay 
still ; 

Most pranced about a-shouting what they ’d do 
Or what was done to them. Yea, I am sick : 

The twitching of that arm has done for me ; 

I ’ll eat nought for a week. 

Cecil. Say on, my fool. 

Yokel. Nay, master, an you ’d know, ask jester 
Clod, — 

He stayed there peeking when I ran away. 

Cecil. So run again and play the fool else- 
where; 

We ’ll have the rest from Clod. 

Yokel. Ay, that I will. — 

Nay, that I won’t. — I mean, my lord, I will 
Not play the fool again, elsewhere nor here. 

If they will fight, they ’ll find some other fool 
To see them do it ; I have had enough. 

Cecil. And so have we, my lad, — alas! and 
they 


163 


The Death of Essex 
Who have their battles ended in this brawl 
That stains a soldier’s sword. Here ’s thy reward. 

[Gives him money . Tokel goes away . 
[Aside.] Thus we have wonders, — profitable 
fools. 

The first of all my days. [To Queen.] Hark ! the 
storm dies down 

And your own trumpet sends its soaring voice 
Over the brooding silence. 

[Sound of trumpets in distance and voice of 
Garter King. 

Garter King. Hear, ye London men ! 

In the Queen’s name I unto ye proclaim 
Robert of Devereux traitor to her throne. 

Go to your houses, wait your sovereign’s will. 
Keep the good faith of London with its kings. 

Stay not that traitor Essex. [Elizabeth kneels. 

Cecil [after a time\. It is done. 

Save for the bitter doing that ’s to come. [Rises. 
Eliz. Oh Cecil, thou art wise and clear of 
sight, — 

A soldier, as we said, — yet thy brave heart 
Is cold as winter. 

Cecil. Faith, your majesty. 

There ’s need of frost where all the rest is fire. 
Eliz. Thou art parabolous in all save deeds : 


164 The Death of Essex 

See what ’s to do to quench those embers quick, 

And save all that we may. 

Cecil. That willingly 

From my heart as your own. But know, my 
liege, 

There ’s left us ashes, — scarce a brand to snatch 
From that mad burning. 

Eliz. Go and do thy best, 

And we will fight for breath. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE XVII 

Essex House. 

Essex, Southampton, Rutland, and others . 
Essex. Where are our prisoners, good hostages 
To buy mayhap our safety to the sea ? 

Rutland. They ’re gone, my lord, — that 
traitor set them free, 

And with them fled. 

Essex. Ah, and we spared the blow 

That would have saved us this. Take you good 
heed : 

Spare not curs overlong ; they ’re sure to bite, 

And most untimely. — 


The Death of Essex 165 
Southampton. They are at our gate 

With matches by their cannon. — 

Essex. Bid them fire ! 

We’ll go in blazing chariots to the throne 
Where we ’ll be heard. 

South. My lord, there ’re women here ; 

They must not die that we may choose the way 
To skip the days to come. 

Essex. Good friend, ’t is true : 

That were unmannerly. Hie to the gate, 

There make what terms you may, — for me but 
this : 

That I come quickly to my waited place. 

[Southampton goes . 
Yea, now I ’ll dream of peace. All save our dreams 
Is written in this world’s foundation stones. 

Our deeds are God’s ; our fancies are our own. 
This time I was to be with her at home, 

Past that all fending wood. Yea, there I ’ll go 
When God hath made me free of this hard way. 
Bide, love, for me. 

[ Gate opens. Enter Lord Keeper and 
Guards . 

[T 0 Lord Keeper.] I am your prisoner. 

Take you my sword [kisses blade\ ; it is of trusty 
steel ; 


i66 The Death of Essex 

But once ill drawn, a thousand times in faith ; 

’T is worn and dented, as its master is. 

We pray you keep it well, — that none again 
Bear it in faithless war. Would you be kind 
To one who passes, send it to my son 
That it be with him on the fields he ’ll fend 
When England calls her men. 

Lord Keeper. Ay, my dear lord. 

This and all else thy noble soul would ask 
Shall faithfully be done. 

Essex. Nay, good my lord, no more 

The rest doth need no asking. 


End of Act Fourth 


ACT FIFTH 

SCENE I 

Audience Room in Whitehall. 
Elizabeth, clad in black ; Cecil, Courtiers . 
Elizabeth. 

S it to-day? 

Cecil. Ay, liege. 

Eliz. Who are the peers ? 

[Cecil hands list of jury. 
[Scanning paper.] Some are his foes. 

Cecil. Ay, some ; but most his friends : 

All men are one or other in this cause : 

It is all one to him. 

Eliz. It must be clear 

That we judge not by judges of our mind : 

Our folk ask that. They have the right to scan 
In this right narrowly their throne. 

Cecil. My Queen, 

They know you just. You've knit them to your 
heart 

By love that ’s nurtured in your honest courts. 



1 68 The Death of Essex 
Besides, they know what he is still to you, 

For all he tried to be. 

Eliz. There they know not. 

Cecil, the woman and the friend is dead ; 

There lives now but the sovereign made of steel, 
Automaton to do what God hath fixed 
In His hard way of deeds. ’T will sleep and wake, 
Rage, laugh, and seem as human ; mark it well, 
And thou wilt see it is no living shape. 

But something left by death to bide awhile. 
Because the twain might not together rest. 

God grant me when I rise that I may know 
Never again this evil thing they ’ll grave, 

But be a woman. 

Cecil. Oh my dear liege, our lives are as a host 
That man nor God may part; so deed by deed 
We call to service nobles or foul slaves 
Who own the ruling marvellous of man. 

Yet that which is us bides above them all ; 

So you will with us bide as when you came, 

A sovereign woman to rule o’er our hearts 
And shepherd us to safety. 

Eliz. Wait, you’ll see — 

Enter Usher . 

Usher. They bide for you, my lord. 

Eliz. Let it be known 


The Death of Essex 169 

That all the deeps are ’twixt us and this court ; 
We 'll hear the judgment as the furthest king 
May hear the rumour of it, but will do 
The part that fits the instruments of fate 
And strike as a good clock. — Send no word here ; 
We’ll know the issue from the waiting air 
That gives and takes our breath. 

[Exit Cecil. Clod discovered at window . 
[To Clod.] Thou here, my clown ? 

Clod. Ay, mistress, why not here? Clowns 
have to be. 

Like sadder folk, somewhere. 

Eliz. I ’ve missed thee, Clod, — 

Where was thy somewhere all of yesterday ? 

Clod. In the fine fool chace up and down the 
streets. 

Never was game so plenty. Yea, good dame. 

You should have seen them, — you’d be laughing 
still ; 

You ’d laugh until you died as I shall sure 
Until I skip my hump. 

Eliz. What did they, Clod ? 

Clod. They did their own undoing as they 
might : 

Bumped heads and wits together ; pranced and 
bawled 


170 The Death of Essex 

Or scuttled into hiding. — At nine, we folk 
Were all at preaching while we sharpened pikes 
For our way here. At ten, the mayor came 
With Garter King and Burleigh ; they two 
preached 

To merry text of trumpets, all to bed 
Until their hen should crow. Then made we 
haste 

To pull our nightcaps o'er our frightened ears 
And played awhile at snoring. You heard the 
roar ? 

It lifted half the roofs. 

Eliz. Sir John was there? 

Clod. There ? Everywhere, — he was our 
master fool ; 

He owns this cap and bells. He had his chance 
To rake his wager, but he roaring went 
Of ‘ London’s faith, the ancient stay of thrones ’ 
Till trumpets seemed but whistles. We knew not 
What devil had got in him, but when man 
Of his fair bigness roars at us, we blink 
And do his bidding ; so we hied to bed 
And snored as I have told. 

Eliz. And was that all ? 

Clod. Nay, dame, ’t was but beginning, for at 


noon 


The'!>5> th of Essex^x l?1 

There came another roaring. Now, we thought, 
Sir John would have us up; so out we sent 
Our heads as far as eyes, — quick pulled them back 
And shot the bars again. 

Eliz. ’T was not Sir John ? 

Clod. Nay, ’t was another. He too cried of 
faith 

And pledge to stay him, but the doors stayed 
fast, 

No men went to his side. We dried our eyes 
Upon our dirty sleeves, while on he went 
As lonely as he came. — We longed to die 
Beside him where he would. 

Eliz. Why went they not ? 

Clod. We fools are cowards, dame, — we are 
all fears, 

We play our little games awhile we crouch 
Beside our masters. If these masters fight 
We better scuttle to the nearest hole. 

Eliz. Nay, nay, my fool, 

I know them well. 

Clod. Nay, nay, my mighty dame, 

Clod knows them better and he knows they crouch 
Before that master conscience who lords not 
Over your court. He quaked their coward hearts 
And kept you safely here. 


172 The Death qf Essex 

E’liz. Ho, Clod, don’t preach ! 

’T is not thy trade. 

Clod. Yea, but we’ll catch that plague 

Though we be sconced at court. 

Eliz. On with that tale. 

Clod. There is no on to it ; ’t is round and 
round. 

Some gentles came to him from out the land. 

Till he had half a hundred ; then he went 
Smack ’gainst your people. Ay, he charged and 
charged 

With half a dozen, while the rest set up 
Hullabaloo to lift a deaf man’s wig. 

Then for another scamper through the streets, — 
Lord knows for what unless to spend their 
breath 

In shouting ’gainst Sir John. He winded them, 

So they crept home on byways whilst thy fool 
Reckoned his betters’ wisdom. 

Eliz. How looked he, Clod ? 

Clod. He ’s his own wraith, my Queen, — so 
lean and gaunt 

His shadow has like substance. Ay, ’t was good 
To see that in his self he was not there 
But in some far away. Once when he charged 
On Levison’s stout line, alone hurled through 


1 he Death Essex 173 

And turned to hail the laggards, then broke 
back 

Because they followed not, — he was himself 
And the old morning glowed upon his face ; 

But then he shrank again and slunk away 
Like a poor hound that’s beaten from his bone. 

Eliz. That is a picture of the sorry end 
Of what was fairest man. Thou paintest well. 
Clod. Nay, dame, not I. 

Eliz. Yea, Clod, ’tis wondrous well. 

Clod. Nay, nay, your eyes are dry and mine still 
wet, 

And in my ears there rang out all the night 
His cry to London for a faith forgot : 

I am thy fool, — I would I were no more 
Than cap and bells. 

Eliz. Yea, thou art Clod, and I am Queen; 
’T is all the matter. Clod may see and cry 
Whene’er his little soul is sorrowful ; 

His Queen hath else to do. Go forth now. Clod, 
And bring us something merry when we sup. 

No more these tedious tales of how wise men 
Play fool to make thee wise. 

End of Scene . 


174 T-HE D^ath of Essex 


\ 


; 




SCENE II 

Hall at Westminster. 
Bacon, Judges, Officers. 
Enter Essex, guarded. 


Bacon. The story of this wrong hath been twice 
told; 

By thunder to all ears, and in this court 

With sacred care to truth, — good justice’s ward. 

Ye know this man was cradled by our throne, 
Bred in its favour, trusted as its stay, 

Given a freedom and a scope of deeds 
That should have made him foremost of our men 
In every loyal action. Two years gone 
He was entrusted with the largest care 
That ever came to subject of this realm : 

His task was to break down rebellion’s front. 

His valour proved, his reckoned faith, his host, — 
All suited to the doing. What came thence ? 

A tale indelible of mutinous deeds, 

Of orders scorned, of might all cast away 
In vagrant actions, and at end a truce 
That shamed our sovereign’s right. He was sent 
there 

To quell rebellion; he another bred, 


The Death of Essex 175 

The last most fearful. Reckoning what might be 
If this disnatured subject crossed the deep 
Before due inquest of his actions had, 

He was charged on his faith to come not here. 
Never from sovereign’s will went forth command 
More clear, more firm, more fit to show the way 
He surely should not go ; and yet he burst 
Unbidden on her, — cast all bonds away 
That hold the liegeman and the soldier true. 

Ye know the fear that seized us, how we strove 
To read that portent, how the tide of love 
That swelled our hearts for him o’erwhelmed that 
fear 

And bade him win again the trust he ’d lost. 

Ye know, my lords, how straight away he went 
To shape all hatreds that infest this realm, 

The rage of sects, the greed of beaten men. 

With love the people bore him, in a might 
To hurl against our throne. 

Essex. I do appeal 

From that base pleader to the man he was. 

Who warned me of the foes whom I see here, 

Set down the list of them and their shrewd plans, 
And helped to stir the rage that brings my end. 
What friend could do to make him, I have done ; 
What foe could do to break me, he has done. 


176 The Death of Essex 

Hear him, my lords, for he must earn his wage. 

The next mayhap at price of your own lives. 

But know he is a traitor in his heart 
To all that maketh man. 

Bacon. My lords, ’t is well 

This traitor speaks of faith. Yea, well he knows 
That never man in all this world hath toiled 
To win his brother into loyal ways. 

To bring a noble promise to its fruit. 

As I with him. It was done lovingly. 

For well ye ’ve learned to know him is to love 
That wasted splendour sent us from the skies. 

Alas ! I am his debtor for the best 

That man can give to man of hope and help. — 

I came unto this bar with deeper pang 
Than smote his heart, for I am here to smite 
My love and faith, — my very trust in heaven, — 
That this good realm should to our heritors 
Go onward o’er our dust. — Put we aside 
These sorrows personal and look away 
Into that sum of duty named the state, — 

See what there is to do, and have it done 
If it doth rend our hearts. If that man lives 
With all his sins upon him, goes his way 
With prosperous treason for his sturdy guide, 

Let true men seek their graves, for England dies 


The Death of Essex 177 

Here where we slay her law. Ay, if that man 
Held in his seared heart a drop of blood 
That knew the pulses of his noble days. 

He’d bow him down and beg ye for the stroke 
That shall assoil his treason, make amend 
For all the ills he ’s brooded in this land 
That die not while he lives. — The law asks not 
The life of man for vengeance, — that is His 
Who searches hearts and knoweth all our ways, — 
We here demand this life that law may live, 

With sorrow ask what ye all sorrowful 
Must give to save this England for all time. 

\J u dg es withdraw . After a short time 
they return . 

Clerk of Court. Robert, Lord Essex, with 
high treason charged : 

Pleading no guilt, you put yourself on God 
By these just judges and these men your peers. 
This court hath found you guilty ; what say you 
Why you should not take judgment in your death ? 
Essex. My lords, my judges, willing take I 
death 

That ye adjudge me, praying it may wash 
From my poor soul, from this dear land, from 
hearts 

That do remember Essex, what hath come 


178 The Death of Essex 

Upon him since he fell into this pit. — 

Behind him is that tumult men call life, 

And from the farther verge he ’ll speak to ye 
The words of one who goes past mortal ken, 

Who would leave understanding of his deeds 
As he must face them ’fore God’s judgment seat, — 
Cold, clear, and true. My lords, ye knew this 
man 

When first he came, a youth, to serve his Queen 
With loyal heart and hope to win fair fame 
In honest, manly doing. He strove well 
Straight on to go, and straight the first steps went 
With help that ye then lent him and the aid 
Of brothers who have fallen by his side ; 

But as he came to strength ye fell away 
Till he stood all alone. Then as he sought 
Alone to do his part, behold, there came 
Between the will and deed a host that barred 
His access to the throne. Had he but sought 
To help his fortunes in the common quest 
For princes’ favours, this had been no more 
Than the vile scramble of the hungry base 
Who one another rend for chance to gain 
An undeserved share. He too knew need, 

And battled with ye for the paltry gold 
Wherewith to do the work God bade him do : 


i79 


The Death of Essex 
To give this land to freedom so each soul 
Should hold its faith in peace, to clear away 
The heaped wrongs that tie the folk, misnamed 
The common, to their lords who thus enslave 
Whom Christ made free. ’Gainst him ye set a bar; 
’Gainst ye he strove as best he might, until 
He was disnatured by the strife and saw, 

As in a dream, himself a hunted man 
And ye a pack that yelped him round the world. 
Foiling the aims of God. Oh, then he struck 
Wildly as in a dream. He struck and fell. 

My lords, our Master sends His soldiers death ; 
But after them He sends yet braver men 
To tread upon their graves and steadfastly 
To bear the banners of His kingdom on. 

It matters little how the graved may die, 

How poor and lean they be, so that they die 
In His true purposes. The one hath gone ; 
Watch ye for hosts that come to do God’s work. 
Go set your house in order, or be swept 
With all its foulness to the burning deep. — 

Thus for the good he held to ; for the ill. 

The mountain of it that is on his soul, — 

’T will be all told by many eager tongues 
And sweep a-ringing down the streets of time. 

He goes to lay it at his Master’s feet, — 


180 The Death of Essex 

Would that his death might end this, — clear away 
All rankle from men’s hearts so he might lie 
Hearsed with the humblest, in his place forgot. 
He ’d live again his torment to undo. 

The wounds and shame he gave his sovereign’s 
heart. 

The Queen who set him on life’s noble ways. 

To whom he rendered counterfeit for gold. 

If there be any who to Essex dead — 

A friend who holds some faith, or generous foe — 
Would be his Lazarus for but a drop 
Of mercy in his torment, let him bear 
To her this message: say that all his days 
With falsehood in his heart and lie on tongue 
His better self bowed down in shame and joy 
’Fore her nobility; — that in the worst 
Of his abasing madness she was e’er 
The guiding star he ’d lost and strove to win 
In fierce tempestuous way. Now he would go 
So swift he may to earth. The rest is God’s. 
Chief Justice. You know our sovereign’s 
mercy. Cast you there 
And in her favour find a hope of life. 

Essex. Nay, righteous judge, an humble will to 
die. 

Not grace, doth fit this culprit. While he bows 


The Death of Essex 181 
Upon the very knee of his sad heart 
To crave her mercy for his memory 
He must not for his life; for he would die 
Out of this misused world. 

Chief Justice. Prepare to meet thy God: 
The sentence is ye go back whence ye came 
To wait the pleasure of her majesty; 

Thence to be taken through the city streets 
To the appointed place, as felon hanged, 

Thy body to be quartered, and its parts 
Cast as thy sovereign wills. 

Essex. My lord, ’t is well 

So it be quickly. ’T is but moment’s pain 
That counts not in the tale this life hath known. 
End of Scene . 

SCENE III 

Queen’s Chamber at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth, looking from window . 
Elizabeth. Like a swift shadow through these 
busy streets 

A hush sweeps onward. Now the people kneel 
And bend their heads to look. — Oh, there he goes, 
A tiny thing amid the multitude, 

Creeping to death. — A little year agone 


182 The Death of Essex 

I would have cast me from this window down 
And fought with broken body ’gainst this woe 
That is upon him. Now I idly look 
And see him shuffle onward to the block. 

His youth bent down in age, with heart as still 
As it shall be when hearsed. — Creep on, thou 
mite. 

And hide thee in the darkness. She is dead ; 

Ay, thou hast slain her who was long thy shield, 
Trod down the love she gave thee, shamed her 
faith, 

Stamped out the blessed memories of days 
Before she knew what was the heart of man. — 
Oh, hear that groan of sorrow from my folk ! 
Would it were from my soul. Ye happy fools 
Who loving can give all, — ask nothing back 
But scourge of sorrow when your darling dies, — - 
Yours is the mother love, the only love 
That fits this evil world. 

Enter Cecil. 

Ah, good Cecil, 

Ye come to tell me : see, it is there told 
He hath now passed from sight. Yet it is writ 
Upon yon throng more than we like to read 
Of fond devotion to that atomy. 

Cecil. 


My liege, 


The Death of Essex 183 

You’ve had their faith; then grant them to be 
fond 

To the strong man they loved. 

Eliz. Oh, they were fooled — 

Cecil. Then let them have their folly for their 
faith ; 

’T is better far than none. 

Eliz. ’T is emptiness 

With which this world is overfull. 

Cecil. My liege, 

Their sorrow does them honour, as their faith 
They gave you in your need. They love that man. 
Send him to death yet kneel beside the path 
Where he treads to his grave. ’T is the good way 
Of tumbled souls who must contrive with fate. 

To grieve at their just deeds and rend their hearts 
Howe’er the Lord may will. 

Eliz. Nay, man, all that 

Is preaching to the dead. In all this world 
My eyes see now but duty hard and clear 
And straightway to it. Let it be straightway 
To end of this. 

Cecil. Dear majesty, ’t is well 

We make a winding sheet of time for this. 

You need so do. We may not grave the dead 
In a rude haste, howe’er they come to die : 


s 


/ 



184 The Death of Essex 
Here in this bitter doing two face death, — 

He at the block and she who sends him there; 
Both stand before their God and need to scan 
The earth and sky until this task is done, 

And reckon now and then. 

Eliz. Oh good Daniel, 

This judgment ’s ours, and we do judge it fit 
To purge our realm of this iniquity 
Swift as we may. 

Cecil. Nay, it must not be swift. 

Eliz. It shall be so. 

Cecil. I am your counselor. 

Pledged to that service, sworn that all your deeds. 
Though done by sovereign might, lack not their 
due 

Of reckoning wisdom that shall shape each step 
To fit before and after. So we ’ve come 
Out of a mortal ill to safety’s verge. 

But not to surety. Yea, there still is need 
Of wary steering or we yet may wreck 
In sight of haven. 

Eliz. ’T is the villain plan 

That makes the creatures of a throne its lords. 
The sovereign but a puppet. That is done ; 

Until we die this realm shall know a King 
As in our father’s time. ’Sdeath, ye shall find 


X \ 


The Death of Essex 185 

In headsman’s axe the proof that we are here 
To be your King. 

Cecil. And you, dear sovereign, proof 

That we are faithful servants if we fall, 

Because to the last word we keep the faith 
We ’ve sworn to give. My liege, see where this 
leads, — 

How you are here upon your sire’s throne 
And not the vassal of that traitorous crew 
Who wait for death or mercy at your hands ? 

’T is that the sober men, the strength of realm. 

Of court and field and town, have known their liege. 
The sunlit summit of their noblest hopes 
Of wisdom, justice, mercy, lifted high 
And set to light the dark. Cast this away 
And trust you to your sceptre, you will find 
It is an ancient bauble gone to dust 
So soon you try to lift it. 

Eliz. [madly]. Ho, my guards, 

Here is arch treason. Come, ye faithful men, 

And smite him down. 

[Elizabeth sinks down unconscious . Cecil 
kneels beside her . 

Cecil. Spare, spare, oh God, thy servant this 
hard fate 

That bids her better self apart to die. 


t 


1 86 The Death of Essex 
Eliz. [raving ] . Essex, Essex, where art thou? 
Oh, \ is dark 

And thou art far away. — Nay, nay, not that, — 
That is the end. My God, what end, what end ? 

[Awakes. 

Cecil ! where am I, Cecil ? 

Cecil. Here, my Queen, 

In your own place with friends to be your guard. 
Eliz. Where have I been ? 

Cecil. My Queen, a while away ; 

Thank Heaven you are back. 

Eliz. I sought him far 

Where day had never been. — Yea, now I know. — 
Yon night was dark and yet ’t was light to this. 
For there I sought to save. Oh God above. 

Why hast thou cursed this woman with a crown ? 

[Weeps. 

How long was I away ? 

Cecil. ’T was but a span 

Whilst a stout swimmer might stay ’neath the sea. 

Eliz. Nay, Cecil, ’t was for years ; for on and on 
I went mid shadows that I knew as men, 

Who startled looked on me and silent fled. 

Until I found a woman, — ’twas myself. 

That self I slew. She, sorrowing, said to me, 

‘ He is not here ; thou hast not slain him yet. — 


The Death of Essex 187 

Go back and do thy task, that we may bide 
One in this realm of peace.’ And then I woke. — 
Oh, it is strange, for she is back with me 
To see the task is done. [Totters. 

Cecil. My liege, you ’re ill ; 

I ’ll call your women. 

Eliz. Nay, not that, not them; 

I need the strength of men for help in this, — 

All masters and all seers. — Poor fool I was 
To gird at wisdom when a moment’s blink 
Into the deep hath turned my heart to dust. — 
Good Cecil, stay by me until ’t is done, — 

This, and what cometh after. Let me lean 
My tottering soul on thy brave manly strength 
As on thy sire I leaned when as a child 
We set out on this journey. — Let us forth : 

I would have breath of Heaven if it lies 
Below this pall that once was glorious sky. 

[She goes out , leaning on Cecil. 

End of Scene . 


1 8 8 


The Death of Essex 


SCENE IV 

Elizabeth’s Chamber at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth, Clod. 

Elizabeth. Ho, Clod, where are the jests you 
owe our ears ? 

We pay you not for that sad face you bear. 

What sin is on your soul ? 

Clod. Were Clod a man. 

Then were one more to tug thy hangman’s rope. 

Eliz. Yea, Clod, thy soul would never fit a king : 
’T is gentle, and the tears are near thine eyes ; 

’T will never know our trade. 

Clod. Thank God for that ! 

Eliz. Go to thy knees and thank Him for that 
boon 

To thee and thy dear kind who know clean dirt. 
But nothing of this foulness that doth mar 
The hands and hearts of rulers, — blood of men. 
The tears of stricken women, and the wail 
Of children starving where should plenty be. 

Go, happy Clod, the Lord is kind to thee. 

For His clean earth is thine. 

Clod. Nay, dame, ’t is thine: 

Your word, and folk are happy ; or they ’re sad, 


The Death of Essex 189 

As you may chance to say it. Wish us well, 

And all is well with us. 

Eliz. Ho, my good Clod, 

Thy Queen is many things : betimes the leech 
To heal the wounds of men, and now the edge 
Of sword that makes them. But she ne’er must be 
Unheeding mercy, for she is the Lord’s 
To do His fearful work of good and ill 
All tumbled here together. 

Clod. Leave out ill. 

And double us the good ; we ’ll not complain. 

Eliz. Clod, they were born together and must go 
Together to the end. See here, dear fool, 

And mend thy knowledge of the part of kings. 

[ She shows Clod a warrant . 
Clod [reading ] . ‘Elizabeth.’ ’T is fairly writ 
and firm ; 

Would Clod had thee for master. 

Eliz. Nay, read on. 

Clod [startled]. It is his death! 

Eliz. Ay, ’t is hard death for twain. 

Know, my good fool, thy Queen would willing 
crawl 

Beneath thy hump and wheeze out all her days 
To ’scape from this. — Go, lift thy load with joy, 
For know ’t is feather light to that she bears. 

End of Scene . 



\ 


190 The Death of Essex 

SCENE V 

London Tower. Day of Execution. 

Essex. 

Enter Harrington. 

Harrington. My lord. 

Essex. Ah, Harry, hail. We were together there 
Where I have been in fancy, — i’ the far land 
Where light of day lights not with prison bars, 
And men dream not of gaols. 

Har. You mused of Spain ? 

Essex. Nay, Harry, of the capes that jut the 
sea 

Whereto God’s tide hath borne me swiftly on 
This day to port. But thine it is to wait 
Until He bids thee there. I will not far 
F the illimitable realm ; I ’ll set my ship 
In some still bay and watch for dint in sky 
That tells thy coming. Thou wilt hear my shout 
Give thee good welcome and a hail to days 
That we shall know together, — where each eve 
Fades but to morning, and each morning brings 
Youth to uncaged souls. Go, bid them haste 
Who fit the ways for launching of my ship, 

For it doth thirst to drink the noble sea 


The Death of Essex igi 

And hungers for the winds to swell its sails 
Long idly furled. 

Har. Not yet, my lord, not yet : 

Men should not hasten thus from this good here 
Unto the dark hereafter ; they should clasp 
This goodly cup of life till it be drained. 

Nor leave e'en lees unquaffed, for they may know 
A mighty thirst before they quaff again. 

Let us wage on this battle for good life. 

Nor count it lost because we 're beaten back 
To outer verge of peril. She would save - ; 

For in her mighty heart the past finds room, 
Living to keep the memories of days 
That fade from common lives. There 's a vast rage 
Of love and hate and duty that doth whelm 
The very shores that bound it, where her soul 
Seeth no port of safety. Set 'fore her 
A beacon light and she will haste to it 
To bless the help that saves her from herself 
And keeps thee here. 

Essex. Harry, 't is not thy way 

To speak in riddles, — thou must read me this. 
Har. Thou hast, my master, pledge of long 

a g°> 

How come what might that she would hold thee 
safe ; 


192 The Death of Essex 

It is a sovereign’s word, and royally 
She ’ll keep that pledge. 

Essex. Here is the ring she gave 

[Taking ring from breast . 
To me in my great sickness. It hath stayed 
Near to my heart, and there it shall abide 
Until its pulses still. Yea, it would keep 
That drum a-beating to yet further wars. 

But I would march to peace. ’T would hold in 
shame 

What with it here [replacing ring on breast\ may 
pass in dignity, 

With so much of fair honour as can stay 
By him who dies a traitor. 

Har. Master, nay, — 

Thy heart was faithful. 

Essex. Yea, to land and throne 

Was faith enough; my treason is not there, 

But to myself, to her, to fellow-men. 

There am I basest traitor. There I lie 
Forsworn, distraught, with soul steeped in the 
mire. — - 

This ancient token, waking memories 
All murky with foul shame, would spare my head 
And leave me in that filth to breathe awhile 
Until it choked my soul. [Taking ring again in 
handl\ Look near and see 


The Death of Essex 193 

The light that shineth from this jewel’s heart 
As if a new star broke from wondrous deeps. 

Of old it was mere stone ; ’t is now the fire 
Of that dear better self we name the Lord. 

That light came when my baleful star went down ; 
It is my beacon to His mercy seat. 

[Musingly.] God sends His angels in the sun of 
Heaven, 

He sends them too in least of all His stars. 

This is His token ; it shall be my guide, 

Not to new ill of life but to its end. — 

[To Harrington.] Farewell, good friend, e’en 
now thou art away 

Beyond that round of sea where thou must wait 
With many loved. Pray thou upon this eve 
My ship fare safely. — Wait to hear the cry 
Of Essex at thy coming. Fare thee well. 

End of Scene . 

SCENE VI 

Queen’s Room. 

Elizabeth, Cecil. 

Elizabeth. No messenger has come ? 

Cecil. Nay, none hath come. 

Eliz. There is yet time ? 


1 94 The Death of Essex 

Cecil. Ay, my dear Queen, yet time. 

At your command, up to the very stroke 
Of hour that sends him forth, there will be time 
For what you ’d have from him if he it sends. 

Eliz. You know not what ? 

Cecil. Yea, I do know, full well : 

He ’s worn it next his heart, and oft hath told 
Of how that talisman would keep him safe 
Whate’er befell. 

Eliz. And yet he goes to death 

In silent bitterness. 

Cecil. He goes to death 

In noble stillness and humility. 

Eliz. But scorning favour from this woman’s 
hand. 

Cecil. My liege, he is your kinsman ; he will go 
As fits a prince who goeth to a King, 

Bearing his homage, asking for no gift 
To lessen that he brings. He ’s with the vile 
And yet he is no villain. Yea, his soul 
Stands in the dawn of death all clean and pure 
And ’scaped of sin as when, a little child, 

It went to mother’s arms. 

Eliz. We ’d have him live. 

Cecil. But he, the wiser, willeth now to die. 
For all he’s stripped of honours and estate, 


The Death of Essex 195 

He holds within his hand the mightiest gift 
That man can give to man, — yea, to his God. 

Eliz. Alas, poor outcast ; what hath he to give 
But back to me that token ? 

Cecil. His brave life, 

Man’s glorious heritage of earth and sky. 

He changes for the dark because his heart 
Is of your own and nobly judges deeds, — 

Not in the hungry day, but in the realm 
Where greeds all fade and spacious things appear. 
He gives you back your pledge thus silently 
That he may spare you shame. Ay, ’t is a gift 
Of kinsman faithful in the bitter end ; 

Where’er he ’s wandered, home when comes that 
end ; 

Who with that giving wins the peace of God 
That waits such brave surrender. 

Eliz. Nay, not that. — 

It shall not be that for such airy things 
That mountain of a life be thus hurled down 
Into the deep. Hark ! Hark ! what do I hear ? 

’T is hurrying feet. 

Cecil. Nay, nay, my Queen, ’t is still ; 

All London is a churchyard on this morn. 

It is the flapping of your banner high 
That idly fights the wind. 


196 The Death of Essex 
Eliz. [looking at hour-glass ] . Great God, ’t is near ; 
The sands creep out and all this world is numb 
As if it waited but the angel Death. 

[She hastens to window and calls . 
Ho, there, my guards, shout that they stay the 
deed, 

Give me a horse that I may forth to him. 

Send shot of cannon ’gainst the Tower walls 
That they may know our will. [Cecil tries to re- 
strain her.] Away, away ; 

Spend thy scant breath in staying this foul wrong 
Or beg the headsman’s help if thou dost fail. 

Then let him send for me ; for two shall die 
To venge this murder. [Again from window .] Ho, 
my trusty men, 

Cry your king’s mercy till the heavens ring, 

Fire my house that in its flame they see 

We will not have him die. — There are none here; 

My palace is a grave. 

[First stroke of knell. Elizabeth sinks on 
her knees. 

Cecil [after a time]. ’T is well, my Queen ; 
This mortal ill is healed and England lives 
In faithful duty done. — So hard, so hard, 

That men may question if a realm be bought 
Justly at such a price. — Pardon thy servant’s part : 


The Death of Essex 197 

’T was his to do for sake of faith. Would God 
Had sent for him before ’t was his to do. 

Eliz. [rising, absently\. Yea, I can pardon all. 
All save this villain world 
And demon fate, its master. Tell no more 
Of some far God above us : here we crawl 
And beg for mercy to unheeding might, 

Yet know but hand that slays us. 

Cecil. Oh my liege, 

This blow is merciful : it comes from heaven ; 

It has His sign upon it, for it lends 
To shame a sanctity, to sin assoil. 

And gives to memory what vagrant death 
Denies the herd. 

Eliz. [to Cecil]. I would to Hatfield or else- 
where away 

Where there bide only shades of better days ; 

I cannot face this here. 

Cecil. Nay, 't is best here, — 

Here where you 've stood unshaken in the whirl 
Of the great tempest, where mayhap the storm 
May back for some new raging. Kings must face 
All surges as the rocks that spurn the sea ; 

Their very countenance needs adamant 
Behind their smiles. This is the sovereign's part 
That holds the shifting herd and awes their hearts 
Tore might they know not. 


198 The Death of Essex 
Eliz. ’T is fair mockery 

Of might that is not ! 

Cecil. Nay, my liege, ’t is truth ; 

The firmest cliff that hath withstood the blows 
Of angry oceans for a thousand years 
Shakes as each billow thunders into wreck 
Upon its changeless base. So you have stood 
In midst of England’s perils, so stand now 
Before this mightiest. 

Eliz. Ay, here we ’ll stand, 

A marvel in that sea ! 

Cecil. What we divined 

Comes swiftly in the wind. Meet it, my liege. 

So they may know the all unshaken rock 
Of your brave heart. 

[Elizabeth goes to virginals and plays . 
Cecil retires to background . 

Enter Ladies in waiting, Ralegh, Oxford, etc . 
First Lady in waiting. She is sore worn. 
Second Lady. Yea, age comes swiftly on. 

First Lady. Hark to the horses’ feet! They 
bring the news 

That he is sped. She cannot bear that now ; 

This is no place. She ’ll break, she ’ll break. 

Have her away. 

Second Lady. Nay, she has chosen it. 

And she is wise. 


The Death of Essex 


*99 

Ralegh. Watch close ; it comes, we ’ll see 

What ’s hid within her heart. 

Oxford. Creep to the edge 

And peer down in the deep. Mayhap you ’ll find 
What ’s in the fathomless. He made essay 
And toppled o’er the verge. 

Ralegh. Nay, but we ’ll know 

What he was to her. 

Oxford. Wondrous things, my friend, 

And eke a head to grin upon her wall, 

Pointing a worthy moral. 

[Enter Officer from Tower. 

Officer. Your majesty, 

’T is done. [Queen plays on. 

Eliz. Ay, so it was commanded, — so ’t is done ; 
We need no word for that. We are well served. 

[Plays again. 

Off. Your majesty ! 

Eliz. Ho man, still here ; begone ! 

Thy task is done, as ours. ’T is not our will 
To smell yon Tower here. 

[She plays on. Officer retires. 

Ralegh. When jacks start up, then heads go 
down. 

Oxford [aside to Ralegh]. But thine is none 
the wiser. Shun that deep. 


200 The Death of Essex 

Or thou wilt fathom it without thy poll 

As he hath done. [Elizabeth ceases playing . 

Ralegh. Your majesty is good 

To send us with sweet music far from here 
And all our sorrow. 

Eliz. ’Sdeath, but we ’d play on 

Until those patient cords all snapped in twain 
If we could make each note a scorpion’s sting 
To scourge the knaves who sore infest this realm 
As far as we would have them. 

Oxford [aside to Ralegh]. Better forth : 
That sea is set on smiting, and its surge, 

Even in play, may send our ships to wreck. 

[Exeunt. 

Eliz. [to Cecil]. Oh, ’t is the end of Essex. 
Cecil. Nay, nay, my Queen, thy Essex lives for 
aye; 

He never took the measure of his time 
Or gauged the seas whereon his craft might swim, 
But chanced their deeps and shallows with a helm 
Set straight to far-off goal. So lies he here. 

Mere derelict that knows how ocean’s waves 
Mock as they will their sometime conqueror. 

Thus is it ever with the men who trust 
Proud hearts for pilotage and scorn the tasks 
Of humble duty bent o’er God’s fair chart. 


201 


The Death of Essex 
And yet he is our lover for all days. 

The noble youth who hurled him ’gainst the world. 
The man who compassed life with ample soul. 
The friend who loved with splendour, who endowed 
A realm with sense of what ’t is to be man. 

He lives serene ; the hapless else is dead. 

Dead, as he willed it. — All the ages on 
Our folk shall bless him, hearken to his cry 
Of valour that shall lead its valiant youth 
To vast accomplishments of sea and land. 

This is the end of Essex. 


End of The "Death of Essex 


EPILOGUE 


HEY set their prows against the un- 
known seas, 

They feel the breath of God come in 
the breeze 

That wafts them o’er wide oceans of desire 
Unto the goals of star-lit destinies. 

Ay, they must founder in that deep, but on 
Their children bear their souls till port is won, 
Till victors from their graves on ocean floor, 

They rise to see their glorious work is done. 

Theirs was no witless wisdom of the school 
Nor grace of words shaped by the pedant fool ; 
Their minds and tongues sent echo from the heart 
To hard swung swords in fights where masters 
rule, — 



Phrase that was shaped to mount the surges’ roar 
Outclamouring their guns, phrase set to soar 
Above the crest of battle and to send 
Onward their shout unto earth’s farthest shore. 


Epilogue 203 

Oh, how they wove with that rude loom of old ! 
Flinging the shuttle with its thread of gold 
Through the awaiting warp of common deeds 
Until the web did all earth’s glory hold. 

Nay, it is not the dawn that lights yon sky 
But saddened last of day that swift doth hie 
Unto the morning of brave realms that wait 
While ye in this enduring darkness lie. 

Turn then thy face and heart — thou laggard, turn 
Unto the east with hope thy soul may earn 
With its hard penance right to hail new day 
And see its flame upon thy altars burn. 


<$be fttoeitfitJe 

Electrotyped and printed 6y H. O. Houghton &■» Co. 
Cambridge , Mass. t U. S. A. 



* 




. COPY DEL. TO CAT. DiV. 
NOV, T 1903 


N0V 12 1903 





